


That Go Bump In the Night

by sushibomb



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Blowjobs, Curses, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gore, Historical References, Ish?? - Freeform, Kuroo aggressively being a cat person, Light Bondage, M/M, Reluctant Friendship, Slow Burn, Vampires/Immortals AU, aka a day in the life of a tired disgruntled vampire, handjobs, mentions of japanese history, oikawa is going full nerd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushibomb/pseuds/sushibomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa has always been fascinated with the unknown. Aliens, monsters, ghosts, you name it, he can tell you a little something about the lore. So when a mysterious new person moves into his apartment complex, Oikawa is determined to prove that this seemingly normal guy might be one of the undead. But what happens when it turns out that he’s right?</p><p> </p><p>Chapter 2 now with art and music links!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So, Our Neighbor Might be a Vampire

**Author's Note:**

> I've secretly always wanted to write a vampire AU please don't judge me
> 
> This is for the HQBB 2k16 collection! 
> 
> I've had a blast writing this so far, though I've still got a ways to go!
> 
> I'd like to thank my wonderful beta [Yin](http://yinriench.tumblr.com/) for putting up with my constant procrastination and indecision, you've been a great help, both as a beta reader and as a friend! I'd also like to thank [Amber](http://archiveofourown.org/users/siredtosourwolf) and [Puck](http://goodfellowes.tumblr.com/), who is also my super talented artist, for also unofficially beta reading and generally being my moral support!
> 
> You can find Puck's piece (1/4) [here!](http://goodfellowes.tumblr.com/post/149822761564/concepts-based-on-kurootetsurouvevo-s-fic-for)
> 
> I don't own Haikyuu! I only write to entertain!

Hajime likes to think of himself as a simple guy. By most standards, he’s pretty low maintenance; it doesn’t take much to keep him entertained and content. With the slightest of pressure from his fingertip, the third to last puzzle piece fits into place. The little ‘click’ against his finger brings a small smile to his face. Pleased, he allows himself a sigh of contentment following a hearty gulp of his afternoon coffee. He repeats the sequence two more times, adding only a small ‘whoop!’ when his eyes trail over the nearly month-long construction of the thousand piece godzilla puzzle (a most thoughtful gift from his roomies) resting completed and in all of its proper glory atop their coffee table.

Hajime is a simple guy. Who values the simpler things in life. All he wanted, no, _prayed_ _for_ , was a peaceful afternoon alone in his apartment, temporarily free of the demon trio that also happened to be his closest friends and teammates.

But simplicity and peace, in relation to Iwaizumi Hajime -

“IWA-CHAN!”

-are seemingly nothing but absurd pipe dreams.

The urgency in Tooru’s voice promptly drives away what little peace Hajime thought he had found in his few hours of respite.With a sigh that can only be described as pre-exhausted and one last forlorn look at his sweet radioactive iguana puzzle, Hajime drains the last of his coffee in preparation because Tooru has that wild look in his eyes that can only mean a limited number of things, more accurately, two specific things: he ran into Ushijima while doing his laundry or (he thinks) he saw a UFO.  

Finally, tentatively, Hajime turns to his best friend. “...Yeah?”

He watches as Tooru sets his bags down on the kitchen table, face as grim as one of those gargoyle statues that sit perched up on those big cathedrals. “I have to tell you something,” He says quietly.

“Okay.”

He sits opposite Hajime, on the other side of the coffee table, on the other side of Godzilla. Hajime’s eyes skim over his freshly completed puzzle as he waits for Tooru to settle in.

“It’s really important.”

“Okay.”

Tooru takes a deep breath. “I...I think our new neighbor is a vampire.”

It might just be him, but for a split second, he swears that godzilla’s eyes meet his, and they are filled with nothing but pure pity for him. Hajime appreciates the sentiment.

“I...” Hajime falls forward on his forearm exasperatedly. He balls his hands into fists, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to quell the headache that undoubtedly started at the exact moment Tooru opened his mouth. Tooru’s tendency to put UFO sightings and such on the same level as actually serious and important events is occasionally funny, mostly embarrassing (it’s like 20/80, Hajime would figure), but there are times, like now, for example, where Hajime finds himself speechless.

“I…What.” There’s no possible way his tone can convey any wish for Tooru to elaborate on his newest, and by all accounts, most ludicrous, claim, and yet, his prolonged silence is taken as an invitation to do exactly that.

“He’s definitely a vampire,” Tooru continues, either not noticing that Hajime’s voice rose several octaves on the ‘what’ or completely ignoring it. In any case, it sounds even more ridiculous the second time. Hajime opens his mouth, closes it again. There are so many things he could say, _wants_ to say to his now rambling best friend, but the words just can’t seem to find any momentum. So he settles for staring at Tooru until he stops talking. A full six and something something minutes later.

“-and that’s why the guy is 100% legitimately a vampire.”

Hajime blinks. Inhales, exhales. Rests his head in his palm. If there were an ideal image, a perfect visual representation of the word ‘pity’, Hajime imagines it would be the look on his face as he addresses his now hopeful friend and ex-captain.

“Oikawa.”

“Yes?”

“Full disclosure, I didn’t listen to one thing you just said.”

Tooru pulls a face, but before he can get another word out, Hajime stops him. “Having grown up with you, I am aware of and do my very best to tolerate your weird, borderline obsessive interest in paranormal mumbo-jumbo. And, given that, I too, am a huge nerd, I can’t exactly rip into you about it, but,” Hajime leans forward, an amused smirk bowing his lips, “You know there’s no such thing as vampires, right?”

Tooru doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, there is. We live across the hall from one.”

Hajime can feel the vein in his temple start to pulse. It is both amazing and incredibly annoying how Tooru can say such ridiculous things with a completely straight face. But then, it is equally amazing (and equally annoying) that Tooru genuinely believes what he is saying. And yet, it is because of that conviction that Hajime, incredulously, asks Tooru to properly elaborate, albeit at a much slower pace. Buuuut... It _might_ also be a tiny bit because Hajime needs a good laugh. And Tooru’s stone cold expression as he dives head-first into his explanation might very well be the most hilarious thing Hajime will see today, maybe this whole week.  

“Don’t you think it’s weird that the guy moved in at _night_? I mean, I didn’t even know you could do that. Unless,” Tooru’s eyes widen a fraction, “he hypnotized them, you know, so they can like, bring up his coffin and his home dirt. Not to mention, I’ve only seen him like twice, and both times were super late at night.”

“Being a night person doesn’t make you a fuckin’ vampire, Oikawa. And please know that I am hesitant to ask, but what _the hell_ is home dirt?”

“Please hold.” Tooru says quickly and runs off to the Mothership™--aka his bedroom. It became an inside joke between Takahiro, Issei, and himself a year ago when Tooru finally got his _the MIB are here_ posters from some shady site online. That also happened to be the same time period where Tooru swore up and down that he saw an alien in his bedroom and was ‘marked’ for abduction. He remembers it well, mainly because Issei already had a brilliant title for the front-page headline on all the newspapers.

 _“I can see it now, splashed on the cover of every major tabloid paper in Tokyo,_ ” Issei had said over the rim of his coffee mug that next morning, “ **_After Years of Prayer and Area 51 Specials, Local Nerd is Finally Abducted by Aliens.”_ **

Weirdly, the only part of that that Tooru was actually offended by was that Issei had assumed the story would only be localized to Tokyo. According to him, it should be a worldwide spectacle. Takahiro agreed, too.

_"Yeah, Mattsun, the aliens finally came to take Oikawa back to his home planet. Everyone in the world should know about it. It should be a matter of public record.”_

(It was also the time Tooru spent an entire afternoon hot-gluing glow in the dark stars and planets to his walls and ceiling, which, Hajime hates to admit, actually looks pretty cool.)

Tooru comes bolting back out a minute later, also significantly less clothed than a minute ago. Hajime eyes the little tattoo on Tooru’s ankle; some weird symbol that was either meant to be lucky or ward off evil, Hajime doesn’t care enough to remember what Tooru said about it.

An offensively thick black book is dropped in front of him, startling Hajime out of his thoughts on Tooru’s body art choices. The book isn’t dusty or anything (Tooru’s room is much too clean for that to be possible), but somehow it makes Hajime sneeze like four times in a row. Tooru looms over him, hand shoved unceremoniously down the front of his boxers, scratching idly as he yawns.

“Oi, can you not scratch your balls right next to my fucking head.”

“I think I’m allergic to the material of these boxers, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, not only still scratching himself next to Hajime’s head, but now scratching _and_ making his weird ‘thought’ noises as he leans down to thumb through the pages of the book. His glasses slide down a fraction and Tooru rears his head back to shake them back into their proper place.

“Incredible. If only the girls at school could see their precious ‘Oikawa-kun’ in all his natural nerdy, ball-scratching splendor,” Hajime says with a snort into his palm.

“At the end of the day, I am but a man. My glasses are loose and sometimes my scrotum itches because my boxers are uncomfortable. The struggles of living.”

“That was beautiful.”

Tooru finger guns down at him.“Thank you. Oh, and if it’s any consolation, I walked in on Mattsun giving Makki a blowjob in the kitchen the other night. So you tell me what’s worse: me scratching my scrotum next to you or seeing Makki’s ‘ _Oh'_  face?”

“I can’t think of anything worse than you calling your ballsack your ‘scrotum’. But still, ugh.”

“That’s the medically correct term, Iwa-chan. And it was pretty hot, actually. Makki makes cute nois-”

“-What were you going to show me?” Hajime quickly cuts him off, cheeks a brilliant shade of pink.

Tooru snaps his fingers. “Right, yes. The dirt. Here,” He finally finds the page he’s looking for and follows a passage with his pointer finger reading silently for a few seconds before pointing to a specific sentence.

Hajime leans over to read it. _“A Vampire is most vulnerable during the day. According to Western lore, most of the undead take to the shelter of the darkness during this time. To properly and safely rest, a Vampire must sleep on a patch of its native soil,-”_

“-from their homeland.” Tooru clarifies, “Hence, home dirt.”

“Fascinating.”

Hajime had seen the guy only once, their new neighbor, but it was just once and it was from far away a little after sunset. All he could really tell at the time was that the guy was around their age, give or take a year, he was fond of the color black, and apparently he was illiterate because he was standing next to the only No Smoking sign on their floor, exhaling a thick plume of smoke from his mouth and nose without a care in the world. Nothing about him screamed ‘I Drink Blood and Sleep in a Coffin’ to Hajime, but in the hands of someone with an imagination as vivid as Tooru’s…

Nope, still no.

“So... what else makes you think this dude’s a vampire?” Hajime, against his better judgement, asks as he idly flips through the book. It’s not strictly about vampires, but about other mythical and supernatural beings and creatures as well. It’s passively interesting at best, he supposes. But then, he’s never been as into the paranormal as Tooru has.

“Well, like I said, I’ve only ever seen him at night, and one of those times, he was standing out in the courtyard… It was like two in the morning…” Tooru leans closer, “And I was out on the balcony looking for constellations, and Iwa-chan, I swear to every god I know he looked up at me, like, _directly_ at me.”

“And?”

“What the heck do you mean, ‘and?’ Do you know how far away the courtyard actually is from the building? He was really far out too, and yet he turned and looked me dead in the eye.” A visible shudder creeps up Tooru’s body. “It was one of the freakiest things I’ve ever seen.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “He was probably wondering ‘why’s this fucking idiot outside staring at the sky at two in the morning’?”

Tooru looks affronted. “Excuse me? He was the weirdo standing in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by a bunch of fucking cats, I might add, staring up at the moon like he’s getting ready to perform some kind of weird ritual!”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Okay, I agree that that’s a little creepy, but it’s hardly a good reason to call someone a damn vampire.”

“You’re right, but that’s not all.”

Hajime actually does pinch his nose this time. “You have _more_?”

“Damn skippy, I do.” Tooru quips. He leans over and tugs his school bag off the chair it had fallen off the table into and fishes inside, tongue poking out from between his lips.

“Oh, boy,” is all Hajime can say when Tooru produces a thick notebook; one of those three subject ones that only ever get half-filled before they are either lost or thrown away for scholarly aesthetic’s sake, something that clearly doesn’t matter to Tooru since the notebook is dirty and worn well past its meager half-life. It falls onto the table with a soft ‘pfft’ and some papers hanging out from the side slide out a little farther.

At this point, Hajime finds himself a little concerned for Tooru’s sanity. That notebook looks _uncomfortably_ full.

“And what, pray tell, is in that notebook?” Hajime dares to inquire, reaching over to inspect it for himself. Tooru doesn’t waste any time in opening it for him; he flips past a whole lot of weird scribbles and pages upon pages of his small handwriting, on the fronts _and_ the backs of each sheet, until he comes to a relatively recent-looking entry.

“This is my ‘weird shit’ notebook.” Tooru says solemnly. “I started it back in middle school--”

Hajime lets out a sigh of relief. He had been seriously worried that Tooru had filled up that entire notebook in the span of two months, which is exactly how long their new neighbor has been living there. Not that a few years is really any better, considering the topic of interest, but relatively speaking, Hajime is somewhat relieved.

“--and I’ve been documenting all the unexplainable things that I see, as well as my theories and questions I’ve always wanted answered. You know, the basics.”

“Yeah, totally.”

“Anyway, so there was also the thing that happened the other night, in the stairwell.” Tooru pauses to reposition himself, tucking his legs under his butt. “So, you know how the elevators here are super temperamental, and randomly stop working every other day?”

Hajime nods. “Yeah.”

“Well, on one of those nights when the elevators were being cranky, I had to take the stairs instead. I was almost at our floor when all of a sudden, I get this feeling like someone is behind me, and so I look back, and…” Tooru gives Hajime a pointed look as he exhales shakily.

“...He was on the bottom step, looking right at me, just calmly walking up the steps; says ‘good evening’, like he didn’t just scare the living shit out of me.”

Hajime looks at Tooru strangely, brows weighted down with all of the disbelief in the world. “I don’t see the big deal about that, Oikawa. You’re not the only person that is out late. You’re being silly.”

“No, Iwa-chan, you don’t understand.” Tooru grips Hajime’s wrist tightly. “You can _hear_ the door to the stairs when someone comes in. It slams really hard when it closes, you know that. But there was no slam. There was literally no noise at all. Even when he was walking up behind me, it was like he was floating up the stairs or something. He was like a fucking ninja.”

Hajime gives Tooru an amused look. “So, now he’s a ninja?”

At this point, Hajime feels kind of like he wants to laugh, but it’s hard to laugh at how thoroughly freaked out Tooru looks.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy. It’s hard to explain, but I _know_ and am one-hundred percent certain that I was alone in that stairwell all the way up to the fifth floor. He literally materialized out of thin air. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Oikawa, what time was it when you got home that night?” Hajime asks suddenly. Tooru thinks for a moment, lips scrunched to one side. “Like one? I think?”

“Yeah, see? It was late. I know how you get when you’re tired, it happens to everyone. When you’re alone, your mind plays tricks on you.”

Tooru frowns. “But I wasn’t tired. And I wasn’t imagining it.”

The door to their apartment opens suddenly, which nearly startles Tooru out of his own skin but merely pulls Hajime’s attention away from the dozens of bullet points scribbled down in Tooru’s notebook. It’s dozens too many, if Hajime is perfectly honest.

Takahiro walks in with an obnoxiously loud yawn and arms outstretched, two giant bags of something, presumably sweets, hang from one of his wrists. Issei follows behind him, albeit more subdued, carrying an additional bag.

“Hey,” he says. Hajime and Tooru both wave at their roommates.

“So I have two pieces of news. One is bad and one is good,” Takahiro says around a mouthful of milk bread. He falls backwards onto their small couch and sticks his legs up in the air for Issei to take his sneakers off. Issei walks past him, pointedly staring at his phone.

“Mattsun, my sneakers, Mattsun, oi,” he hollers, to no avail, “Matsukawa Issei, I am speaking to you, hey.”

The door to their bedroom closes.

“Sneakers? No? Okay.”

“So what’s the news, Makki?” Hajime begins, watching their friend try to simultaneously wrestle with the straps on his sneakers and somehow take another bite of the milk bread still clutched in the hand that is undoing the straps. Whether or not anyone’s noticed Oikawa’s pleading eyes, gazing longingly at said milk bread, is subject to speculation.

“Yef,” Takahiro mumbles as he finally swallows the giant mouthful of masticated bread, but not without nearly choking on it the second Issei reappears from their bedroom, appearing out of nowhere and plopping down directly on top of him.

“The bad news is that that little convenience store down the street that sells your favorite brand of milk bread is going out of business. The good news, before Oikawa loses his shit over there-” Takahiro quickly says, sensing Tooru’s impending explosion the way animals can feel earthquakes and stuff-- Tooru’s hands ring around a pencil tightly, his face puckered in that specific way that, much like an earthquake, spells disaster for everyone in the area. “The good news is that me and Mattsun, like the amazing friends we are, bought up all the last milk breads they had. Merry Christmas.”

“It’s July,” Hajime tries to point out, but his voice is drowned out by the loud hoots of excitement Tooru lets out as he wallows through the three giant bags, fishing out two packages. He’s way too excited.

“So Oikawa thinks our new neighbor is a vampire,” Hajime blurts out.

The half-chewed bread in Tooru’s mouth falls with a disgustingly loud ‘splat’ on to the table top.“Iwa-chan!”

“Our new neighbor?” Takahiro asks, thinking for a second. “Oh, you mean the hot dude across the hall?” He is answered by two different “mmhmm’s”; one is too amused and one is too urgent.

The laughter that follows makes Tooru almost squish the pastries in his hands. Issei doubles over in laughter, very nearly crushing Takahiro’s ribs in the process, though it doesn’t seem to be an immediate issue, as Takahiro is already laughing so hard that he’s wheezing.

“Don’t- don’t laugh at me! It’s true!” Tooru shrieks angrily, but the pathetically high decibel to which his voice had risen only makes them, plus Hajime, laugh even harder.

“So you’ve finally moved on from aliens to vampires, huh?” Issei manages to ask between gasps for breath. “This is cold-blooded betrayal if I ever saw it.”

“Did you forget about your Space Jam fantasy? Who are the alien overlords going to force to play volleyball for their amusement forever now?” Takahiro adds.

Tooru rips into his second milk bread, tearing a good half of it off in one bite. “You cun belief in do thunfs,” he explains around the mouthful, all the while glaring daggers at the pair. “They’re boof real.”

“Oikawa, my dude,” Takahiro begins, “is this going to be like that time back in highschool, when you thought that our volleyball coach was a werewolf?”

Tooru frowns. “Listen,”

Issei snorts at the memory. He nudges at Takahiro with his elbow, smirking, “But Makki, don’t you remember? Oikawa proved that he was a werewolf beyond a reasonable doubt. He had the five-pointed star on his hand, don’t you recall?”

Hajime laughs at that. “Oh, right. Didn’t it turn out to be pieces of dirt from when our ball rolled outside and he went to go get it?”

The three of them look to Tooru. “What was it again?”

Tooru flushes. “It…It was dirt.” He mumbles. “But there were other signs, too.”

Hajime sighs. “Oh, you mean how he suspended you from club activities for a month after the silver spoon thing?”

“He only suspended me because I was close to the truth!”

“You threw a fucking spoon at him, you jackass! It’s a miracle you weren’t suspended from school. You’re lucky you were the captain and the official setter of our team, because I seriously doubt anyone else on our team could’ve gotten away with literally hitting our coach in the back of the head with a fucking spoon that you stole from your mom’s silver cabinet.”

Takahiro is red with laughter. “That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. Oikawa, I’m so glad we’re friends.”

Tooru stamps his foot, lips pulled into a frustrated pout. “I didn’t mean to throw it! I panicked!”

“And to prove what? That he was allergic to silver?”

Tooru takes his seat across from Hajime, frowning. When he realizes that Tooru refuses to meet any of their eyes, Hajime softens a bit, quelling his laughter. Issei and Takahiro ease up as well, knowing that Tooru is nearing the point where he withdraws into himself and refuses to speak to anyone for days at a time. As much fun as it is to tease him, none of them like seeing Tooru like that. Not when he’s finally gotten over the complexes that plagued him all through middle school and high school, not when he’s finally learned to be more open and less demanding of himself.

They’d take nerdy, _the truth is out there_ Tooru over _everyone hates me and_ _I’m not good enough_ Tooru anyday.

“Look, you guys don’t have to believe me,” he says, staring at Hajime’s puzzle and tracing the outlines of the individual pieces with his middle finger, “and maybe I was wrong then, but this is different. I know I’m on to something now.”

He looks up at them. “There’s something just not right about that guy.”

Time passes as Tooru tells them everything he told Hajime before. Surprisingly, both Takahiro and Issei listen to him without interrupting (or laughing) once; they both listened rapt as Tooru recanted the stairwell incident, along with another weird occurrence that he hadn’t yet mentioned to Hajime.

“He didn’t have a reflection?” Takahiro says aloud.

“It was only for a brief moment before the elevator closed,” Tooru says, “but I saw him walk by the mirror in the lobby. He didn’t appear in the mirror at all, not even his clothes.”

“Weird,” Issei mutters. “But it was probably the angle of the mirror, Oikawa. It’s designed to look like a geometric mural or something, like how it has those smaller pieces along the sides and it curves?”

“So you don’t believe me.” It’s not a question.

Issei holds his hands up defensively. “I’m just saying that stuff can get distorted in that mirror, and you even said yourself that you only saw it really quick,” he replies.

Tooru grumbles audibly, pout growing by the second. At least, right up until the moment Hajime leans over the table and flicks him on the forehead. “Listen, Oikawa, regardless of what you think you saw, you have to be respectful of people. You don’t know what kind of person that guy is, what kind of life he lives. Sure, he is a little quiet, and I’m guessing probably a loner, but you can’t go around accusing people of being monsters because of a few odd things that, to be blunt, you’re probably over-imagining.”

“But-”

“No buts. People in this area are poor, broke college students just like us. The guy probably works late at night or something, and that’s why he’s never out early. We’re pretty close to Shinjuku, you know. A lot of people that work in clubs and bars and stuff in _Kabuki-cho_ sleep during the day and work all night. It’s honestly not that weird, Oikawa. And, even if he isn’t--,” Hajime squeezes Tooru’s hand gently, “--some people just want privacy.”

“Or maybe he’s a drug dealer. Did you ever think of that?” Takahiro asks. Hajime deadpans,“Yes, thank you Makki. You’re being a big help.”

“No problem. Now, if you’ll excuse us--,” Takahiro pushes Issei off of him and stands, “--me and Issei are gonna go have sex now. Probably more than once, so fair warning.”

“Also fair warning, we haven’t fucked since Monday sooo… we may or may not be getting noise complaints. On that note, it’s been real,” Issei adds, grabbing Takahiro around the hips and pulling him close. In the span of five seconds, the two are making out, moaning into each other’s mouth softly, totally ignoring their two friends, along with their respective blushes.

“AHEM. Your _bedroom’s_ down the hall,” Hajime snaps when Issei starts unbuttoning his shirt. The two momentarily detach, though they hardly have the decency to look sheepish. Takahiro flashes them a peace sign and leaves for his and Issei’s shared bedroom. Issei follows a second later, but not before,

“The offer’s still open, by the way. You guys are always free to join us.” He says in what Takahiro jokingly calls his ‘sex’ voice; though, by the way Hajime and Tooru both practically run out of the apartment, its effect is lost on everyone but Takahiro himself.

“I'm going to the movies,” Hajime announces curtly.

Tooru jogs after him, wallet and phone in hand. “I think I'll join you,” he says quickly. The pair is out the door in the blink of an eye, leaving Issei alone in the living room.

Issei shrugs. “Suit yourselves.”

*****

“Oikawa,” Hajime says sometime later, before their movie starts, “If it makes you feel better, we’ll go introduce ourselves to him tomorrow. He’s been living there for two months, and I doubt anyone’s even made an effort to say hi. I’m sure the guy’s probably lonely, in that apartment all by himself. Whaddya say?”

Tooru looks down at his popcorn and smiles. “Okay."

*****

He knows that Hajime is glaring daggers at him, more specifically at the back of his head, but Tooru can't bring himself to care. To anyone else, introducing yourself to a new neighbor isn't really that big a deal, but not many people can say that they (might) live next to a vampire. He is doing this because a) Iwa-chan is always right, and b) the rational part of him would very much like to believe that he is just imagining things, but despite Hajime and Issei's rationalizations, Tooru knows what he saw, and he _knows_ that he knows what he saw. He wasn't tired, he wasn't overreacting, and deep down, he might even be a little insulted that his own friends think he's full of it.

 _As if. People don't just materialize out of nowhere.They'd think the exact same thing if they saw,_ Tooru thinks bitterly.

“Would you hurry up and put the damn cookies on the plate already?” Hajime snaps.

Tooru gives him a dirty look. “Why are you rushing me? This was your idea!”

“I wouldn't have suggested it had I known you were going to turn saying hello to some random guy into an all day event.” Hajime retorts with irritation. He practically snatches the plate away and quickly covers it with saran wrap the second Tooru carefully slides the last cookie on the plate.

“Mean!” Tooru wails.

Hajime whacks him upside the head. “I have shit to do! You're too slow!”

He thrusts the plate into Tooru's hands and ushers him out the door, ignoring Tooru's whines.

The closer they get to the door, the more that feeling of his stomach sinking grows in Tooru’s belly. He digs his heels into the floor, shaking his head. “Iwa-chan, I'm getting cold feet, I can't do this! I’m scared!”

Hajime pushes him right up to the apartment door opposite theirs. “Don’t give me that shit. Come on, now. The sooner we do this, the sooner you'll stop with this vampire nonsense and go back to your aliens and stargazing.”

“It's not nonsense! This is a bad idea!” Tooru whispers loudly, trying to turn back to their apartment, “I don’t want to do this anymore!”

Hajime folds his arms over his chest and smirks. “I'll buy you that cryptid encyclopedia that you saw online last month,” he says, tone suddenly way too sing-song for someone as inherently prickly as Hajime, “The one with the holographic cover.”

Tooru freezes mid-step, momentarily slack-jawed. He’s been low-key thinking about how cool the holographic cover would look next to his Captain Phasma bobblehead since last month.  “I… Fuck.” He curses loudly and stomps back up to the door, pointedly ignoring Hajime's self-satisfied smirk. He knows him too well, and Tooru’s between jobs. That was an underhanded move.

He raises his hand to the door; his knuckle hovers just over the door for a brief moment before his hand drops quickly back down to his side. Tooru turns to Hajime anxiously. “Can you knock?” he whispers.

Hajime gives him a disbelieving look before shoving him aside and knocking on the door. Three quick taps and they both step back. But after a minute or so, they don’t hear anything or anyone move inside.

“Try again,” Tooru urges, nudging Hajime in the side, though he backs away at the ‘I’m going to smack that plate out of your hand in .000003 seconds’ look Hajime gives him in response. Despite this, he does knock again, a bit louder this time. But still, after several minutes, there is no answer.

“Hello! We’re your neighbors!” Tooru hollers close to the door, “We wanted to introduce ourselves!”

Hajime elbows him in the gut, nearly knocking the tray of cookies out of his hands. "Oi! Don't be obnoxious!"

Tooru responds by kicking Hajime in the shin. "What's the point of even knocking if he isn't going to hear us, Iwa-chan?"

The bickering quickly escalates into a mini-slap fight; though Tooru finds himself at a disadvantage due to having one hand already occupied.

“Iwa-chan, stop hitting me!” Hajime responds by giving him one last swift smack upside the head.

“I’m gonna take those damn cookies, and shove them so far up your…” Hajime trails off as they start to hear multiple locks clicking open. They listen, eyes growing ever wider, as whoever is on the other side of the door works their way down what is no less than ten different locking mechanisms.

“Holy shit,” Hajime whispers. Tooru only nods in agreement.

The door slowly creaks open, and unconsciously, the pair holds their breath. Through the tiny sliver of darkness that they are met with, a bleary amber eye eventually peers out at them.

"Yes?" His voice is deep and smooth; it could almost be called pleasant, were it not for the marked edge of irritation hanging in his tone. If Tooru wasn’t already regretting this before, he sure is now.

Doing his best to brush off the cold reception, Tooru forces a million-watt smile onto his face and thrusts the cookies forward. "Hi! Sorry to bother you, um, we're your neighbors from across the hall. We noticed that you've been here for a couple of months already, but it doesn't seem like anyone's really taken the time to come and introduce themselves."

The crack in the door widens, but not by much. Just enough for the guy to come fully into view, and by the looks of it, Hajime was right, yet again. He looks like he was out cold before he and Hajime came banging on his door. His hair is a nesting bird’s fantasy, and the skin around his eyes is at least two shades darker than the rest of his face… _All the sleep in the world wouldn’t help those bags,_ Tooru thinks. He looks like he hasn’t slept in like ten years. He looks like he’s hovering on the brink of death, he’s moving and functional, but he’s not _alive._

 _He looks like a walking corpse,_ Tooru thinks with a shudder. The undead aesthetic is certainly not helping his case.

From the slightly sunken in sockets, Tooru is met with a blank, if not frigid stare, and he swears he heard a growl, but if he mentioned it out loud he is sure Hajime would break the plate right over his head, so Tooru lets it go. "My name is Oikawa Tooru, and this," he gestures to Hajime, who waves with a half-smile, "Is my best friend, Iwaizumi Hajime."

The guy looks from Tooru to Hajime and then back again, face slowly scrunching with confusion. For a second, Tooru genuinely expects to have a door slammed in his face, but surprisingly, after a brief moment, their neighbor speaks. "Kuroo," he says with a reluctant nod, as he eyes them both. "How do you do?"

His eyes fall down to the plate of still-steaming cookies sitting tantalizingly in his face, an eyebrow raised. "Are those cookies?"

Tooru beams and thrusts them even closer. "Yeah! Chocolate chip!" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Hajime face palm at his freakish enthusiasm, but Tooru doesn't care. He can barely contain himself as it is. He is literally less than a foot away from a real-life vampire, and right now he’s not sure if he’s terrified or ecstatic. He’s been running on pure adrenaline since they left their apartment.

"I think it's rude to show up empty-handed," Tooru continues, "and we felt bad for taking so long to come over and introduce ourselves."

"It's not really a big deal," Kuroo says, still scrutinizing the cookies; not in a 'I wonder if these are as good as they look' kind of way, but more like 'these are going right in the trash as soon as these assholes leave', kind of way. To Tooru, it's an obvious difference, and inwardly, it makes him twitch.

“Like I said, we live right across the hall, with our two other friends, Mattsun and Makki, an-"

"Are those the two that have obnoxiously loud sex every other night?"

Hajime's eyes go wide. "Err...uh..." he stutters, pointedly looking away.

Tooru gives Kuroo a pained smile. "I guess? Yeah? You can hear them all the way over here?"

The look Kuroo pins him with makes Tooru’s breath catch. It is one of pure, unfiltered disdain.“I, uh--” His lips curl into a faint frown, “--had the pleasure of listening to them screw against my door the other night. Can’t say I care for a repeat.”

Tooru rubs his neck awkwardly, while Hajime loudly facepalms. "Sorry about them," he says. "We'll tell them to knock it off."

"Please see to it that you do,” Kuroo snaps curtly. “I don't find the landlord to be a particularly pleasant guy and I'd rather not be the one to go down to his office to complain because your horny friends can’t keep it in the bedroom."

Behind them, the door to the outside stairway suddenly opens loudly. The burst of heat and sunlight reveals a frustrated mother and her two screaming children, grabbing at one of the many bags of groceries balanced on her forearms. She looks like she's at her wit's end. Hajime rushes over to assist her, holding the door open for her to pass.

Tooru's eyebrow raises curiously. The afternoon sunlight is pouring into the hallway, pooling a few feet away from the entrance to Kuroo's doorway. And, he really wishes that Hajime had been nearby to hear it too, but _he_ hears it. Kuroo's sharp, almost panicked, intake of breath.

Vampires don't do well with sunlight.

_Check and mate._

He turns to Kuroo, feigning concern. "Something wrong?"

Kuroo backs into his apartment, still staring at the light treading just beyond his threshold. "No, no, I just...it's too bright out."

"Not a fan of sunlight?" Tooru inquires innocently. "It won't hurt you, you know. It feels good on your skin after being cooped up in this stuffy old complex all day. Or are you just more of a nightcrawler by nature?" He takes an (utterly foolhardy, even he can admit this) step forward and points behind Kuroo into his apartment. "I couldn’t help but notice how dark you keep it in there. What are you hiding in there, a coffin?"

Shit. He might've been a little too forward with that one. In the distant vestiges of his mind, he can hear that one song from _Kill Bill_ playing, the one where it cuts to their eyes when they're going to fight. Kuroo laughs at the jest, but his eyes aren’t laughing; it might honestly just be his nerves starting to get the better of him again, but he swears that Kuroo's eyes are at least fifty percent brighter than a minute ago. He makes a mental note to jot down 'vampires eyes start to glow when they're getting pissed off' in his notebook. That is, if Kuroo doesn't gut him like a fish right here in this hallway.

“I’m afraid not,” Kuroo finally says, wrapping his dirty, half-buttoned flannel shirt tighter around himself, “I don’t really like cramped spaces. I sleep in a bed like everybody else.”

Suddenly, Tooru’s really glad they spent an entire week on reading body language and nonverbal cues back in his first psychology class. A modicum of amusement hangs in Kuroo’s tone, but just like his laugh, that amusement doesn’t reach his eyes at all. They’re icy and suspicious, and if looks could kill, Tooru’s sure the flesh would be melting right off his face.  

Tooru is regretting opening his fucking fat mouth at all.

Thankfully, Hajime walks over at that moment, waving at the mother and her kids. Tooru thanks his lucky stars as Kuroo’s glare shifts back to Hajime.

“Mmmm.” Hajime stretches with a soft smile. “It’s so beautiful out today. We should do something instead of staying cooped up inside all day. Say, Kuroo, how about the three of us go out and grab some lunch? We could show you around the neighbor-”

"Sorry, I'd like to get back to sleep now, if you don't mind," Kuroo says curtly, reaching quickly for the plate of cookies in Tooru's hands. "Thanks for the cookies."

Just as the door is about to close, a black cat scuttles out of his apartment and Tooru hears Kuroo curse under his breath before calling to it. “Isis, back inside.” The cat meows and winds itself between Tooru’s legs before eventually walking back into the room, and then Tooru and Hajime find themselves once again staring at the chipped off-white paint of his apartment door. Hajime mutters ‘friendly guy’ under his breath before he lets out a loud exhale and turns to Tooru. “Well, are you satisfied? He’s a little cranky, but otherwise a perfectly normal dude.”

But his words fall on deaf ears, as Tooru is caught wondering if Kuroo named his cat Isis after Catwoman’s cat. He writes it down in his notebook as soon as they get back, in parentheses right underneath ‘Vampires’ eyes start to glow when they’re pissed off.’

And he puts a little check mark next to ‘Vampires hate sunlight.’

*****

He makes sure to bring it up later at dinner.

“Guys, I’m telling you, he’s a vampire.”

Hajime’s pizza slice droops down before he can get the string of cheese in his mouth. He growls at Tooru, who at least has the sense to fold his pizza slice in half and is staring at him expectantly, chewing a pepperoni that is hanging out of his mouth.

“Are you still going on about the guy across the hall?” Issei asks, idly picking pepperonis off his pizza slices and frisbeeing them onto Takahiro’s plate. “You really need to let that go. It’s getting weird.”

“It was already weird, babe. Just like you,” Takahiro says, staring down at the pile of pepperonis in the corner of his plate. He shovels a bunch of them onto his pizza, rolls it up like a burrito, and proceeds to wolf it down. “What kind of freak doesn’t like pepperonis?”

“The same one who blows you in the kitchen at odd hours of the night,” Hajime cuts in. Takahiro thinks for a second, smiles to himself, and then nods. “Yeah... can’t all be perfect, I guess.”

“He has black fabric taped over all the windows in his apartment,” Tooru blurts out. “And he got scared when that lady opened the door.”

He’s met with three deadpanned stares.

“What?” Hajime says, lips pursed. “What the hell are you talking about, Oikawa?”

Tooru sighs and leans forward, like a conspiracy theorist on the verge of revealing a major revelation. “When you went to help that lady with the kids. You were holding the door open and the sun was shining in, remember?”

“Yeah, your point?”

Tooru rolls his eyes exasperatedly. “It’s Basic Vampire Lore 101, guys, we literally talked about this yesterday! Vampires don’t like the sun! He freaked out and backed into his apartment to stay out of the light. I heard him!” Tooru imitates Kuroo’s panicked gasp. “And how he was suddenly really desperate to go back inside?”

Hajime lets out what is possibly the longest sigh ever sighed by healthy human lungs. “And do _you not_ remember what I said about people working overnight? People tape their windows all the time. It’s hard to sleep and be rested for a night of work when you have the damn sun shining right in your fucking eyes the whole day.”

“Pfft. Vampires don’t need to sleep.”

Hajime reaches over the table and punches Tooru in the arm. “And as for his supposed ‘freak out’,” Hajime snatches the last slice of pizza off Tooru’s plate, ignoring Tooru’s loud protests. “Have you ever walked outside after being in the dark for a while? It kind of hurts your eyes. I can’t say I blame him for fucking off back to his bed in such a hurry. I actually feel kind of bad for bugging him, to be honest.”

“Why’d you take my pizza?” Tooru whines, trying to grab it back off Hajime’s plate. He is met with Hajime’s hand smack dab on his forehead, holding him firmly in place, arms akimbo and reaching out in whatever direction.

“Because you’re annoying,” Hajime says simply, already halfway done with the slice. “Therefore, I deserve your pizza. For my troubles.”

“I mean, if you fink ‘bout it, hat’s profafly why he waf inf suf a hurry to gof back finside,” Takahiro says around a mouthful of pizza crust.

“Because I’m annoying?” Tooru asks. All three of them nod without hesitation.

“Don’t talk with your mouthful, babe. It’s gross,” Issei says before turning to Tooru. “Not one person, that you _know_ of, has said a word to him all this time and then, all of a sudden, this weirdo in a darth vader sweater and fucking orange crocs comes out of nowhere and wants to ‘introduce himself’? That’s pretty shady, you have to admit. I would have slammed the door right in your face. Full offense.”

“Mattsun, what is your problem with my crocs?” Tooru demands.

“Aside from the fact that they’re crocs _and_ they’re fucking orange?”

Tooru huffs. “I _like_ orange. It’s a fun color.”

Issei looks aggrieved. “If your fashion sense was a person I would punch them in the fucking face.” He turns to Takahiro. “He wears them in public. How are we friends?”

Takahiro rubs his arm soothingly. “There, there. I won’t let Tooru’s smelly ugly crocs get you, baby.”

Tooru folds his arms over his chest petulantly, pointedly looking away from his friends. “You guys are the biggest assholes on Earth.”

*****

It’s late at night when Tooru returns from his study group. Anatomy book tucked under his arm and a hot chocolate in hand, Tooru yawns and forces himself to walk faster. He just wants to make it to the elevator before he collapses. If a thirty percent weighted exam won’t be the death of him, then these late night study sessions will.

As he finally enters the courtyard in front of his building, he looks down to the far end of the concrete expanse, to the spot where he saw Kuroo staring up at the sky that one night. It’s been a few weeks since their disastrous introduction and since then, they’ve seen neither hide nor hare of the reclusive guy. While it is true that he did eventually promise to stop talking about it (more like Hajime pinned him to the table and made him promise that he’d let it go or so help him he would take all of Tooru’s figurines and through them off a pier and into the ocean for him never to find again), he still can’t shake the feeling that something is amiss with Kuroo. And the fact that he hasn’t been around lately Tooru only finds more unsettling...mostly because it’s hard to keep an eye on someone when they refuse to let themselves be seen.

A cat suddenly scurries by his foot, startling Tooru so bad he drops his books. “Dammit,” he mutters, looking around for the animal, but it’s long gone. With a click of his tongue, he kneels down to gather his notes, which had fallen all over the sidewalk, and angrily stuffs them in between random pages in his book. “Damn cats, where the hell are they all coming from?”

He can’t imagine that it’s a coincidence that a lot more stray cats have been hanging around their complex in the two months that Kuroo moved in. But as much as he thinks, he can’t recall ever reading about vampires having a connection with animals, other than…

“Maybe he shapeshifts into a cat…?” Tooru wonders, “Or he has cat familiars? Hnn…”

He contemplates theories of vampires and animal familiars all the way back to his building, chewing on his lip and side-stepping the random strays that keep appearing around him, lest he trip and crack his head open before finally getting to the truth.

Thankfully, the elevators are feeling benevolent tonight; a tired but grateful smile bows Tooru’s lips at the idea of not having to run up five flights of stairs after already being on the brink of collapse. He taps the button for his floor and leans against the side of the elevator, eyes starting to fall shut.

“I could fall asleep right here,” he mumbles out loud, staring at the doors as they slowly start to close. Just as the door is within centimeters of coming shut, a hand shoots in and catches it, nearly making Tooru drop all of his stuff again at the sound of the door mechanism seizing. They slide back open, and, to Tooru’s complete and utter horror, his new neighbor walks onto the elevator, wide awake and out in the open. Just like Tooru wanted.

...Right?

“Good evening,”he says as the doors finally come to a complete close behind him. He leans a shoulder against the other side of the elevator, looking like he just stepped out of the fucking Matrix, in a thigh-length black leather peacoat, black skinny jeans, and black boots. A far cry from the bird nest fantasy and dirty, oversized pajamas from the last time he saw him. Tooru stares down at his simple tank and cardigan ensemble, then down to his plaid board shorts and (fucking) orange crocs, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about his (lack of) fashion sense.

 _Is it like a pre-req to being a vampire that you have to own at least_ one _black leather thing?_

“Hi,” he eventually says, when he realizes that he hasn’t responded to Kuroo’s soft greeting. It’s uncomfortably silent in the elevator as it begins its frustratingly slow ascent; Tooru swears he can feel Kuroo watching him, though when he looks up, the other man’s eyes are focused on something on his cell phone.

But, now that he’s out in the _open_ , Tooru decides to do as much recon as he can. He sizes the other man up, making mental notes. Kuroo is tall; about as tall as him, even without the heel of the boots, and slender but clearly well-built, despite being so covered up this time around. His hair is still a mess, but slightly less of a mess than the other day. There was an effort, which Tooru can applaud. He might be terrible at dressing himself, but at least he can make up for his bad fashion sense with his good hair and charming personality. But getting back to his ‘recon’ which, he is sure most people would just call ‘checking someone out’, physical appearance aside (final conclusion: _He’s pretty hot. But he’s a vampire...but he’s still pretty hot. Yep, definitely hot._ ) There is something about Kuroo, some aura about him that Tooru quickly finds himself drawn to; he sort of felt it when they first went to meet him, but now the two of them are alone, and Tooru is feeling so many different things: mild to moderate panic, kinda like he might throw up, intrigue, his stomach is doing somersaults, smothered by something he can’t see but he can definitely feel, but mostly that he really wants to look away from the mysterious guy standing less than three feet from him, but his eyes refuse to shift away.

He remembers all those vampire movies in Hollywood, how the vampires are always so cool and hot, how they had this magnetic appeal to them that was irresistible; he always thought that aspect of the lore was really cheesy and people projecting their sad, morbid fantasies. But, looking at Kuroo standing there now, a frail, eerie, almost otherworldly beauty to him, _the undead aesthetic_ , Tooru thinks, he can’t help but concede that there might be something to that after all. He finds it just short of impossible to tear his eyes away.  

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Kuroo suddenly says, looking up from his phone. At the sound of his voice, Tooru finally snaps out of it and quickly averts his eyes, hoping that Kuroo hadn’t noticed him blatantly staring at him the whole time.

“Er...for what?” Tooru asks.

Kuroo gives him an apologetic smile, and for a second, just a second, Tooru feels heat creep into his cheeks. _Dimples?! And he has dimples?!… that’s not fair! Vampires aren’t allowed to be cute!_

“For the other day, I mean. I hadn’t been feeling well the night before and I had just managed to get to sleep...but I was so rude to you and your friend. I’m really sorry.”

“No, we should be the ones apologizing for bothering you,” Tooru quickly says, “Iwa-chan said that you probably work late so that’s why we never saw you around during the day. But I felt bad.”

Kuroo shrugs. “It’s no big deal, I move around a lot, so I’m used to not really knowing anyone.”

“Oh, is that so?” Tooru asks aloud, head cocked to the side in that cute, innocuous way that makes girls at his school swoon over him. But inside…

_OH REALLY? YOU MOVE AROUND A LOT? I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY! COULD IT BE BECAUSE YOU’RE A FUCKING BLOODSUCKING DEMON OF THE NIGHT? LEAVING A TRAIL OF BODIES EVERYWHERE YOU GO?_

“Yeah, for work,” He says.

Tooru nods. “Right.” _Riiiiiight._

He switches his hot chocolate to his other hand with a soft hiss, finally feeling it starting to burn his palm. Immediately, a new stinging sensation manifests on his pointer finger and Tooru stifles a howl. “Ow, owww!” he says through clenched teeth as he quickly switches the cup back. He notices a thin line of red against the side of the cup.

“Oh, a papercut,” he says out loud, seeing a small droplet of blood trailing down the lines of his finger. “Damn, it’s pretty deep.”

“Are you alright?” he hears Kuroo ask quietly.

“Yeah, I dropped my books outside before. I must’ve nicked my finger when I...I…” Tooru trails off, watching unnerved as Kuroo sniffs delicately at the air, eyes fluttering shut like he’s smelled something pleasant. Tooru really hopes it’s his cologne, but by the way Kuroo starts moving towards him, that might be wishful thinking at this point.

Kuroo is staring at him hard; more specifically, at the blood sliding down his finger. His eyes are so bright, so intense; Tooru momentarily finds himself struggling to breathe. Like if someone were to pull Alpha Centauri A and B out of the night sky and trap them in the irises of person, that’s the only thing he can think of to describe how intense Kuroo’s eyes are.

Absolutely breathtaking--and terrifying.

Tooru swallows thickly, quickly hiding his finger from sight. “I’m, uh, I’m alright. It’s just a little cut. No-no big deal.” He wipes his finger off on his jeans.

“Don’t,” Kuroo pants as he steps closer. Tooru presses into the corner of the elevator, eyes flitting up to the number screen.

**_4._ **

He’s never hated these crappy old elevators as much as he does right now.

 _This is it. This is how I die. In a shitty, stinky old elevator_ , he thinks, feeling Kuroo moving closer and closer.

“Kuroo, are you okay? You seem a little out of it all of...all of a sudden….” Tooru tries to stall, watching in abject horror as Kuroo starts to reach for his hand. His voice seems to fall on deaf ears. Kuroo clutches his wrist in his grip like a vice, breathing hard, “I’m _starving_ ,” he growls, his voice taking on a much deeper, rougher edge than before. Tooru’s blood runs cold. _Oh my god...I was right._

The elevator dings right as Kuroo starts licking his lips. Tooru has never moved so fast in his life.

“WELLTHISOURFLOORSORRYIHAVETOGOST-STUDYNOWITWASNICETALKINGTOYOUOKAYBYE!” Tooru shrieks out in a single breath, shoving past Kuroo and out of the elevator, eyes shut tight and full-on sprinting towards their apartment. He keeps waiting to feel Kuroo’s freezing cold hand sink into his shoulder and pull him back to his death, but it never comes. He doesn’t stop moving until he’s inside his apartment, breathing ragged and nerves in shambles.

He doesn’t bother telling his friends about it when they get home. It’s not like they’ll believe him, anyway. But over dinner, as he listens to them laugh and throw food at each other, he decides he’s going to get to the bottom of this. He’s going to get them to believe him, no matter what.

He came a’knockin and he found the Devil.

And come Hell or high water, he’s going to prove it.

Tooru settles under his covers later that night, duvet drawn up to his chin and clenched in his fingers so tight the whites of his knuckles glow as if he were bioluminescing like some kind of deep sea creature. The hundreds of stars glued in the form of a swirling galaxy on his ceiling soothe his frayed nerves, but only a little. Everytime he starts to drift, two bright stars trapped in irises peer out of the darkness in his mind and a gruff voice filled with bloodlust rings in his ears and his wrist burns and aches, bruised from the grip of a monster, and his eyes fly open again.

Part of him, a really teeny-tiny part of him, feels like he should be happy about this situation.

On the one hand, he was right. Meaning, he’s not crazy or full of shit like his friends seem to think, and supernatural entities really do exist in their world. But on the other hand... _he was right_. Supernatural entities really do exist in their world, and sometimes, they can hurt you. His wrist pulses with pain as this thought passes through his mind, and Tooru feels along the tender skin with his fingertips. It almost burns to the touch.

He sits up in bed, head falling into his hands. “Shit.”

There’s no possible way he’s going to be able to sleep tonight, he concludes, so he crawls out of bed and steps out onto the balcony. One perk of being a space nerd: he got dibs on the room with a balcony; he fought tooth and nail over it with his roommates, and eventually, his love of the stars and constellations (and needing somewhere to put his giant telescope) won out over everyone else. He leans on the railing, enjoying the late night breeze as it passes by, tousling his hair and his night shirt. If nothing else, at least there is a big, full moon in the sky tonight, and it’s absolutely amazing. Tooru reaches for his Nikon and takes a few snapshots.

As he snaps the last few frames, a sudden noise near his feet draws his attention away. A black cat walks out from underneath the tripod of his telescope mewling up at him and winding itself between and around his bare ankles.

“Oh, hello, little kitty. How did-” Tooru freezes. The cat stops and looks up at him, and he can’t help but notice how...how beautiful its eyes are. So big and bright. Like…

“How did you get all the way up here?” He looks over the balcony, for any possible way it could’ve gotten onto his balcony, but he sees none. Even for a cat, this is impossible. But it wouldn’t be impossible for...

The cat suddenly hisses, startling Tooru so bad he nearly drops his camera as it darts around his feet and hops up onto the railing. He doesn’t move, _can’t_ move. Tooru feels paralyzed by fear, the realization that this is no ordinary cat hitting him over the head like a bat.

“Is that you?” His voice finally comes to him as he inches closer, high and terrified. “Kuroo?”

The cat purrs; a deep rumbling sound from its chest that Tooru would find soothing were the circumstances of its occurrence _normal_ and not completely horrifying.

It licks at its paw for a second before giving him one last look, then it turns and jumps off the railing. Tooru immediately scrambles to after it. “NO!” He screams, peering over the side once again. He doesn’t know what he expected to find, but when he looks down, there is nothing but  the dark grey concrete of the courtyard, five stories below. There are a few cats running around, but no black cats in sight. There is a sudden intense gust just above him, and Tooru does the only thing he can think of.

He raises his camera and snaps. Dozens of pictures, one right after the other, until the wind calms and the cats all disappear back into the bushes and behind buildings.

Tooru runs inside and plugs his camera into the computer, desperate.

“Come on, come on, come on,” He urges his laptop to load faster, literally bouncing in his chair, fingers tapping on the desk. It finally loads and he immediately pulls up his newest set of pictures, hurriedly clicking through the moon frames to the ones after. He clicks through the images like a madman, eyes flitting from corner to corner and top to bottom, searching for even the slightest oddity.

And then, on the second to last image. He finds it.

In the wind, amidst the dust and leaves, he sees the tail of a leather peacoat, and a hand, raised. Tooru’s eyes widen and his jaw nearly hits the desk. "You've got to be shitting me..."

It’s Kuroo, and he’s waving at him.

Tooru wants to scream.

_He's taunting me!_

*****

“See? That’s his hand, and that’s the end of his coat.” He points out to Hajime the next morning. Hajime stares at the screen, face completely neutral as he drinks his coffee. Takahiro and Issei, however, are a lot less quiet.

“Where do you see a hand? That looks like a tree branch that got loose or something.” Takahiro leans closer, throwing himself half over Hajime to do so, and squints at the screen. “Mmmm…nope. Still don’t see it. And the black coat or whatever...that just looks like a garbage bag that got caught in the wind.”

“Oikawa,” Hajime begins, setting his coffee down silently. Tooru gulps. Oh shit. “Didn’t you say, no, didn’t you _promise,_ that you were going to knock it off with this vampire crap?”

Tooru twiddles his fingers, staring at the floor. “Uh, well, technically, you kind of forced me to promise…”

Takahiro and Issei slowly advance toward the door the second Hajime lets out that _specific_ sigh. They’re out the door before Tooru can call for help. In a split second, he finds himself in a headlock, Hajime’s taut arms are like a goddamn vice around his neck.

“Stop splitting hairs! You’re getting really close to The Spoon Incident level of weird with this. And I swear to God, if I have to testify at your trial when that guy presses charges when you _inevitably_ do something stupid and piss him off, I’m going to take you out to the woods, string you up by your toes and leave you for the stag beetles.”

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru cries, slapping pathetically at his best friend’s arms. Hajime doesn’t ease up for a second.

“Don’t you ‘Iwa-chan’ me, I’m serious!” He snaps.

“Just let me get one definitive piece of proof, and then I’ll stop!”

Hajime’s hold slowly releases, and Tooru breathes a sigh of relief. “What do you mean, ‘let me get one definitive piece of proof’? Oikawa, you better not be planning on doing what I _think_ you’re planning on doing.”

Tooru stares at him, guiltily silent.

“No. No. Noooooo. Oikawa. Literally what the hell did I just say about you getting in trouble? If that guy catches you-”

“He won’t catch me. I’ll be really fast. Five minutes. That’s all I need. And then I swear I’ll stop. For real this time.”

“Oikawa, you’re talking about breaking and entering! Which is a crime! It’s not that serious! What is it about this guy that has you so bananas all of sudden? God!”

“Because he-” Tooru stops himself. He thinks about telling Hajime about the night before, in the elevator. About Kuroo and his glowing eyes, and the way his demeanor shifted at the sight of Tooru’s blood. About the way Kuroo grabbed him, almost snapping his wrist. 

He attacked him, plain and simple.

_He knows that I know, and he's taunting me._

And yet, someone as annoyingly rational and skeptical as Hajime, Tooru is sure, would find some way to twist that into a perfectly explainable event. Or maybe he’s honestly just sick and tired of people not believing him.

“Look,” He continues after a beat, “Something else happened last night, and frankly, I don’t feel like I can tell you guys about it, because I’m sure you won’t believe me anyway.” He looks up from the floor to Hajime. “But I know what I saw, I know I’m not going crazy, and I just need five minutes to find the evidence to convince you guys.”

Hajime’s expression softens at that. “We’re not trying to alienate you or anything, Oikawa. And if you feel like we’re mocking you, I’m sorry. But, fuck man. Put yourself in our shoes. If you could hear yourself, the stuff you’ve been saying, you’d react the same way.”

“I know how it sounds, of course I do. But you guys haven’t seen what I’ve seen. You don’t know. And this is the only way I can get you guys to listen.”

The silence in the room is palpable.

The two stare each other down until, finally, Hajime shakes his head, muttering ‘I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this’ under his breath.

“Five minutes.”

Tooru perks up. “Yes.”

“Not a second later. And I guess I’ll have to keep watch, lest you go and get your dumb ass arrested.”

Tooru nods vigorously. “Yes, yes!”

He runs to his bedroom, reemerging a second later with two walkie-talkies in his hands. Hajime looks aggrieved. _“Why do you have those?!”_

“For times like this. I knew this day would come.”

“We’re not using walkie-talkies, idiot. What are you, five?”

*****

“I cannot believe we’re using walkie-talkies. We’re fucking five.” Hajime mutters over the walkie.

Tooru smiles to himself as he slowly pushes the door to Kuroo's apartment open. It took hours of practice and reading dozens of online tutorials, but he finally taught himself how to pick a lock, though, he's not entirely sure whether or not acquiring this specific skill for something like this could be considered admirable or insane. Either way, he closes the door behind him quickly but silently, lest anyone walk by and see him. As the door clicks shut, he is instantly reminded of something, and immediately turns back to look.

“He has twelve different locks on his door.” Tooru confirms.

Hajime replies with an incredulous whistle. “Sounds like he really, really, _really_ values his privacy.”

Tooru’s eyebrow twitches questionably, belying his doubt of that. He feels along the wall for a light switch, letting out a ‘whew’ of relief when he does finally locate it. He flicks it on, and realizes that it doesn’t really change much at all. The lights are incredibly dim; giving the place an unsettling sort of ambiance. It reminds Tooru of those old, desolate gas stations in horror movies, where the protags meet the token Creepy and Perverted Old Guy with No Teeth who warns them about their destination and their certain deaths.

He flicks the lights back off and settles for his flashlight. Ironically, he finds the now pitch black of Kuroo’s apartment slightly more tolerable than the eerie horror movie lighting. But not by much.

As he leaves the foyer and ventures further in, he mentally tacks this down as 'another idea that I thought was good at first but have since come to regret.'

Something warm and furry darts by his foot and Tooru jumps three feet in the air. "What the hell!" He screeches, frantically looking around. Kuroo's cat comes out from behind the couch, mewling softly up at him. Tooru sighs with relief, hand over his pounding heart.

"Oh it's just you, little kitty. You scared me shitless." He leans down and strokes it a few times, from its head to its twitching tail.

For a second, he is struck with the fear that this might be Kuroo in disguise again, like that night on his balcony, but he knows that can’t be, because he saw Kuroo leave about an hour ago. He watched him like a hawk for over two months before bringing any of his suspicions to light; memorized Kuroo’s comings and goings and what times and days he would leave. His schedule seemed arbitrary at first glance, but Tooru soon noticed that Kuroo always slipped out around eleven on Tuesdays and Fridays, and wouldn’t return until well into the twilight hours, often just before dawn. If Kuroo is as much a creature of habit as he is a creature of the night, then Tooru is certain he has the run of the place until at least two a.m., and with that knowledge in mind, he tickles the pretty feline under its chin with less trepidation than before. It purrs softly against his hand before apparently growing bored and wandering down the hall into one of the open bedrooms. Tooru watches it go, briefly considering following after it before deciding to begin right where he is and work his way into the other rooms. The key to being quick and effective is being organized and methodical, as his favorite professor used to say. He shines his light around what he assumes is the living room.

"Well?" Hajime prompts over the walkie, "Whaddya see?"

Tooru's face puckers as he takes in the strange assortment of things and furniture. "Messy." Is all he can really say.

Though it's a decently-sized place for a single guy, it seems that Kuroo has found plenty of weird junk to fill it with in the absence of human company. Tooru walks up to an odd sculpture placed in the corner of the room; it looks like some kind of marble, and it looks like it costs more than the whole building. And yet, Tooru sees a dirty towel hanging from one of its...curls? Tentacles? Some appendage, and it's honestly the weirdest thing he's ever seen. He can’t even really place it in a point in time, into any singular art style. _Makki would probably know what it is_ , he thinks, and snaps a picture of it on his phone.

Still somewhat confused, he continues onward, walking around the large living room, shining his light on random things he finds. Old clothes and scattered papers, worn and yellowing on their edges lie strewn about the floor and all over both of the tables. Empty wine bottles, some intact and some broken, a dusty bicycle with that little bell thing (which Tooru just can’t resist flicking but is extremely disappointed when it doesn’t make a sound), naked mannequins with random limbs missing, a pair of crutches, which Tooru tripped over.

“What fresh hell is this?” Tooru mutters, rubbing his knee as he stands. He can’t help but think that at least one of the nine circles of Hell looks exactly like Kuroo’s godforsaken living room. The amount of strange things he has, in various states of disarray and dilapidation, only further adds to the chilling feeling crawling up Tooru’s arms and back. At the very least, he regrets coming here alone.   

A broken violin sits propped up in the corner opposite the weird sculpture, which kind of looks like a tangela, now that Tooru really thinks about it. Hundreds of dusty bottles with brightly colored liquids sit in a haphazard assortment on the marble island breakfast nook that divides the living room from the kitchen, and though he is tempted to pick one up and inspect, Tooru sticks to the other rule he laid out for himself: Don’t touch a thing. Observe and document, but do not interfere.

He ignores the fact that he kind of already broke that rule by petting Kuroo’s cat and touching that bicycle bell, assuring himself that that’s totally different. Pets are for petting, bells are for ringing.  

"Holy shit." He says suddenly, catching Hajime's attention.

"What? What is it?"

Tooru's jaw drops. He picks up what looks like a brick of hundred dollar bills. "He just has a pile of money...lying on his kitchen table."

"Whaaaat?" Is all Hajime can say.

Tooru sets his flashlight down momentarily, picking up more of the money bricks (the 'don’t touch' rule is pretty much out the window at this point, he concedes with not much apology to be had). With each one, his eyes grow wider. "Iwa-chan...he has enough money here to pay the rent of every single tenant in this building for like five years."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

Tooru sets the money down and continues looking around. He spots something on the couch, and walks over to investigate. "Oh...my...gosh..." He says slowly, gasping. "Iwa-chan...make that _piles_ of money."

"Say what?"

"He has piles of it, just lying around, and-" Tooru pauses to pick a note up, mouth hanging open, "Is this...in rubles?"

"Rubles?"

"Russian money. And a whole lot of it too. Like fat wads of bills."

Tooru holds his flashlight in his mouth, thumbs through the bills. "Nine-theen twenthy fie."

"Eh?"

Tooru takes his flashlight out of his mouth. "1925. These notes are from the year 1925. Around WWI, I think.”

"Maybe he likes collecting rare money?"

Tooru shrugs. “I guess that’s possible, he has different kinds of money from all over the world here. Pesos, American dollars, weird coins that I’ve never seen before. Who just leaves money lying around like this? It doesn’t makes sense.”

“Maybe he really is a drug dealer, like Makki said.”

Tooru snaps a dozen photos from a dozen angles before wandering off to investigate further. He peers into the kitchen, sniffing curiously at the air. It doesn’t smell like anything, which Tooru isn’t sure of whether or not that’s strange. His kitchen always smells like something, since there’s always someone cooking, and his kitchen back home always smelled like whatever his mother cooked that day. But Kuroo’s kitchen seems almost brand new, practically untouched.

“I guess he wouldn’t have much use for a stove or a microwave when blood already comes out warm,” Tooru says with a wry laugh. He searches the refrigerator and all the cabinets, both shocked and unsurprised to find them all mostly empty, save for random spices, some condiment packets, and a half-empty tub of blue frosting.  

“Anything yet?” Hajime asks over the walkie-talkie.

“His kitchen is weirdly spotless.”

“Not weird.”

“It _is_ weird,” Tooru snaps, “I don’t mean spotless like he’s good at cleaning-- ugh, okay. Rephrase. His kitchen is...uh...hollow. I guess.”

“Hollow?”

“Yeah. He has no plates or silverware, all the cabinets are empty, so is the fridge… I was expecting to find like a severed human hand or something, I don’t know, and maybe-- _what?_ ” Tooru cuts himself off, boiling with irritation when he spots the tray of cookies he so thoughtfully and painstakingly baked for Kuroo sitting moldy and forgotten on top of the stove.

“What a dick!” Tooru huffs into the walkie-talkie, “He didn’t even eat the cookies I made!”

“Just hurry up, assclown. You’ve already gone past your five-minute time limit.”

“But I haven’t even seen the rest of the place yet!”

“You _said_ five minutes!”

“....Five more minutes.”

“I’m throwing your DS in the trash.”

“No! Iwa-chan! Please, I promise, five more minutes, I swear. I just need to see the other rooms!”

“Ugh, fine. Get a move on.”

From the kitchen, Tooru walks back out into the living room, venturing into an adjoining room; it is smaller and somehow even darker, and Tooru swears the temperature went down at least ten degrees since he stepped through the doorway. It’s not a bedroom, but he can tell the room is definitely lived-in. It has a lot of life for someone who is technically dead; he notices that it is the only room where the windows are not taped over, allowing soft moonlight to pour over the small row of plants near the windowsill. Tooru spots a Venus Flytrap nearby, sitting impossibly still with its telltale mouth-like leaves hanging wide open, waiting for prey. He brushes his finger over the tendrils inside, quickly pulls back just before the mouth closes over his finger. “Cool,” He says to himself with a grin, shaking out his hand.

A loveseat with dark, plush pillows sits in the middle of the room, a novel sitting opened and face down on one of the cushions. Tooru crouches down to get a better look. It’s definitely not in Japanese, and he wracks his brain trying to figure out what language it is. He stands up after a beat, mildly annoyed that he wasn’t able to decipher it, and with a click of his tongue, comes to stare at a tall bookshelf, nearly overstuffed with books from all over the world.

“He’s very well-read,” Tooru says, thumbing over the titles that he does recognize, and, despite the fact that he’s here to collect (damning) intel, a sense of kinship swells in him when he sees a few books on Greek, Norse, and Japanese mythology crammed in among the many intriguing topics. He straight up shrieks when he sees a few books, _thick_ books, on aliens and UFOs.

“Iwa-chan! He believes in aliens, too!”

“Joyous.” Hajime intones over the walkie-talkie. Tooru rolls his eyes at his friend’s lack of enthusiasm. He just doesn’t understand.

There is a rack of decorative swords against the opposite wall; Tooru doesn’t even try to stop himself from picking up a Japanese sword, unsheathing it slowly and taking in the glint of the steel in the moonlight. “Hiya!” He shrieks, nearly knocking over a lamp as he strikes a pose.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hajime snaps.

“Sorry, he has swords. I couldn’t control myself.” Tooru replies sheepishly, quickly sheathing the sharp blade and putting in back.

“Yeah whatever,  _Musashi_ , just hurry up.”

All in all, it’s basically a slightly less chaotic expansion of the collection of oddities from the living room, and even subtracting the ‘vampire’ part out of the equation (also thereby subtracting the part where Kuroo tried to bite him in the elevator), Tooru finds himself somewhat stricken by Kuroo and his vast assortment of _things_. It thrums with mysticality, with a sheer sense of the unknown, and Tooru isn’t too proud to admit that he’s kind of in love with it all. This is one of the most interesting places he’s ever been, Kuroo’s one of the most interesting people he’s ever encountered, and they’ve never even had a real conversation.

 _A man of the world,_ Tooru thinks, so unlike himself, whose only experience with traveling was leaving Miyagi to come to Tokyo with his friends for college.  

Tooru sets down a long black tobacco pipe he had been absently inspecting (i.e. twirling in his fingers) and walks up to a charcoal portrait hanging on the far wall.

“Whoa,” He breathes, awed by the detail. It is a candid portrait of Kuroo, sitting on the lowest hanging branch of a tree, napping with an open book held to his chest. A simple image, but the ease and gentleness of the shades brings a soft smile to Tooru’s face, the strangest sense of comfort bubbling in his chest. Despite the despondent feeling of coldness in the apartment, the undertone of happiness of the portrait makes him feel a little warmer. Directly underneath it, another picture hangs in a dark wooden frame. He can’t help but notice, however, how much older it looks. As he inspects it, he realizes why.

It looks something like an ukiyo-e caricature, Tooru thinks, but not quite. The lines and the coloring are reminiscent of the time, but something about it feels different. He remembers researching it for an art class a long time ago, but unlike the prints and replicas he used in his presentation, this one looks authentic, like it would fall apart in his hands if he were to remove it from its frame. Though the style is much different and not detailed in the way the charcoal portrait is, he can tell that this is also Kuroo, this time in a dark gi and hakama. He is simply standing on a bridge, leaning against the side and looking out over the early morning fog hovering above a small pond. He’s not the only one in the picture, but he’s the focus. Like a candid shot. There is a longing in the image that is almost palpable; a sort of sadness in the dullness of the colors; very different from the first picture.

Despite the hustle and bustle of the passersby, it feels like time stops for a moment around Kuroo, as if the artist were gazing through rose-colored lenses, blocking out everything, bewitched only by the object of his desire. The way Kuroo’s long ponytail and clothes are tousled by the wind, the faraway look in his eyes, Tooru isn’t sure how old this image is, but that other-worldliness Kuroo has about him has not dissipated since that time.  

Tooru is hesitant to even take a picture, but he came here for evidence, and an apparently authentic portrait possibly from before the Meiji era definitely qualifies as evidence, as far as he is concerned.

“He has really old portraits hanging in one of the rooms,” He whispers into the walkie-talkie, “I’m not sure yet, but one of them looks like an ukiyo-e caricature. Like, an authentic one.”

“Wow, those sound kinda creepy.” Hajime replies.

“Yeah, and he’s the subject of it, from what I can tell. If it’s real, that means he’s gotta be at least two hundred years old.” Tooru says as he walks out of the room, though it feels like he talking more to himself then since Hajime pointedly stays silent at his speculation. Tooru would guess that Hajime already feels like he’s enabled him enough already; Hajime is acting as his lookout, after all.

He enters another room, which, like the other rooms so far, seems to serve no specific purpose other than a place to store what Tooru now thinks is easily a museum’s worth of items. He also spots several boxes of cat litter in the corner, as well as a scratch post and various other cat toys.

“Welp, I guess I found the cat’s room,” Tooru mutters, quickly doing an about face and marching right out of the room, trying to fan the stench of used cat litter out of his nose. “Ugh.”

He pokes his head into the next room over, which turns out to be the bathroom. He gazes around quickly before deciding there is nothing of interest and continues on his way.

There’s one room left.

“This has to be his bedroom,” Tooru murmurs, suddenly breathing a little harder than before. He glances at his watch; it feels like he’s been here for hours, but only ten minutes have gone by. Any second now, Hajime is going to holler over the walkie-talkie for him to get his ass out of there.

Finally, he is standing in front of the wooden door. It is slightly ajar, and with a nervous finger, Tooru pushes it open the rest of the way. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but a simple king-sized bed with a fluffy, patterned duvet, a small wooden dresser, and a simple entertainment system were definitely not at the top of his list. To say he is simply ‘disappointed’ would be a massive understatement. Tooru doesn't even bother to hide it in his tone, either.

“I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said that he sleeps in a bed like everyone else.” Tooru gripes as he shuffles into the surprisingly modern looking bedroom. He picks up an IKEA catalog sitting on one of the nightstands, unable to hold in his laughter.

“A vampire who can assemble his own furniture. Amazing,” He says, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He can practically hear the bewilderment in Hajime’s silence, but he doesn’t care. The image of Kuroo sitting in the middle of a pile of broken wood and random nails, furiously boring a hole through the DIY directions with his laser vision is as hilarious to Tooru as Count Dracula himself, dignified and aristocratic, trying to put a fucking desk together.

The mental image brings forth a loud bark of laughter that Tooru can’t seem to control, even as Hajime tells him to get it together.

“Alright, alright.” Tooru says, eventually calming down enough to keep on. He pads around the room, taking in the state of it, from Kuroo’s unmade bed, covered with dark sheets, to the various hair products and random papers sporadically piled on the dresser. He notes with a sense of accomplishment, that he hasn’t seen any mirrors in the room, or anywhere in the apartment, except for the cabinet door of the bathroom. And…

“What’s this?” He makes a curious noise, followed by one of awe as he picks up a pendant of a snake sitting under a phone bill on the dresser. “Wow,” He gasps softly, taking in the glinting green emeralds inlaid in intricate, serpentine spirals around the outer part of the charm. It’s heavy and noticeably warm in his hand. He follows the spiral of the body with his eyes, soon followed by his fingertip, marveling at the detail.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, mesmerized, “It feels almost like real snake scales.”

Golden scales, each carved meticulously, leading up to the head of what is clearly a snake, perched menacingly atop its thick coils, ready to strike at any moment. He vaguely remembers it hanging from Kuroo’s neck that night in the elevator, but hadn’t thought much of it then. But looking at it up close now, it is easily the most beautiful and fascinating object in the entirety of Kuroo’s bizarre collection.

 The longer he stares at it, the harder he finds it is to look away. Something about it feels almost alive; there is a pulsing his palm, falling in rhythm with his own pulse, and Tooru swears he can feel it getting warmer--

“Tooru!” Hajime calls frantically, and Tooru blinks.

“W-what?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention, stupid! You’ve been dead silent for almost five minutes, man. I was getting scared.”

Tooru wrenches his eyes away from the charm, confused and suddenly a bit light-headed. “Sorry. I was distracted.”

Ignoring the warmth still creeping up his arm, he pulls open a random door off to the side of the dresser. He finds a surprisingly large walk-in closet, though it doesn’t seem that way, as it is clearly packed well past its capacity with thick coats and clothes and shoes. It is with some offense and, maybe, a _little_ envy, that Tooru shoves his way inside. His lips curl with distaste as he pushes Kuroo’s things along the rack, marveling at some of the things, his jaw flat out dropping at others.

“Iwa-chan! He has a three million yen silk kimono just hanging here in his closet! The price tag is still on it and everything, and it’s just crammed all the way in the back here, like an old rag!”

“What if he’s one of those guys that is super filthy rich but doesn’t flaunt it, and lives normally. There’s some rich guy I heard of that was like that. He hated the flash and all that.”

Tooru struggles to turn in the tight quarters, nearly dropping his flashlight in the process, and looks around in the closet, inspecting whatever catches his eye. _Boy, Mattsun would shit a wedding looking at some of the stuff Kuroo has in here_ , Tooru thinks with a smile, eyeing a cashmere sweater that looks ultra-snug. He knows how much Issei loves his cashmere.

He glances up and spots a moderately-sized box sitting up on a shelf, and the wood looks so smooth and lacquered that Tooru can’t resist taking a peek. He reaches up and pulls it down, silently cheering when he sees that there is no lock on it. He sets it down, pops the end of his flashlight into his mouth to free his hands. It falls right out three seconds later, however, when Tooru’s jaw hits the floor. Again.

“I think I found his--oh. _Oh.”_

“What? What is it?” Hajime presses.

“Um, well,” Tooru lifts a pair of shiny black handcuffs out of the case, face redder than the silk of the kimono hanging behind him. His curiosity getting the better of him, he peers inside, dropping the heavy cuffs back in as he does. Next to them, a tightly bundled red rope sits tucked neatly between two different pairs of restraints, right next to what looks some kind of short whip and a… _holy fuck._

“Uh,” Tooru stutters, trying to find his words, “I found his, um, _toys._ ”

“What?” Hajime chuckles, “Like his dolls and figures, like yours?”

Tooru lifts a silk blindfold out of the box, trying to ignore the sudden heat pooling in his belly. “No, Iwa-chan, n-not like those.”

“Wait, you mean--”

“Uh-huh.”

“ _Oh._ ”

 _Oh is right,_ Tooru thinks to himself. He quickly puts everything back where he found it and places the box back in its proper place, all the while trying to force out some rather insistent mental images of a tongue gliding over glinting, dripping fangs, smirking lips, and that crop smacking against a palm. He also can’t seem to forget the feeling of that silky blindfold in his hand, and wonders what it would feel like resting above his cheeks, obscuring his sight. Leaving only the sound of Kuroo’s smooth voice, edged with bloodlust, and the sound of the crop hitting his--

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He pants softly to himself in admittance, shamefully adjusting his jeans to accommodate the sudden tightness.

“What’s-- _crsssh-_ \- hot?”

Tooru clicks his tongue at the hand held. Great, nothing like a dying battery to ruin his recon mission.

“Nothing!” He replies hurriedly, praying Hajime doesn’t push the subject. Thankfully, before Hajime can inquire further, he is blessed with a distraction. Tooru’s eyes widen like saucers.

He crouches down, slowly mouthing ‘oh my effin’ god’ as he feels the outside of what looks like a mini-fridge, partially obscured by a pile of laundry.

“I think I just found the evidence I’ve been looking for.” He whispers slowly into the walkie-talkie, “There’s a mini-fridge all the way in the back of his closet. He has it hidden under a bunch of clothes, but--”

Tooru swallows anxiously, reaching for the handle. He pulls it open with the utmost caution,  half-expecting alarms to go off and the door to slide shut automatically and trap him inside Kuroo’s weird bondage closet until the vampire returns to suck him dry (in the non-sexual way) and keep his soul forever. But after a few seconds of overwhelming silence, save for his own harsh breathing, Tooru cracks an eye open.

“Holy _shit_.”

His jaw and the floor really have to stop meeting like this.

Icy cold air filters out of the small fridge, making Tooru shiver, but not as much as the actual contents inside. IV bags full of blood; like the ones he’s seen in blood banks when he used to donate and later in the hospital when he did his clinical rotation in the emergency department and the operating rooms. He counts around twelve or thirteen, sitting in crooked half-stacks, like there was once some semblance of order before someone decided they didn’t care anymore and just shoved them in. One slips out and falls at his feet and the sound of the liquid sloshing around in the bag makes Tooru queasy.

Tooru shuffles backwards out of the closet on his butt, speechless and horrified. “Oh god,” He moans, covering his mouth to keep the contents of his stomach down, “I was right, Iwa-chan. I was 100,000% right. He has a bunch of blood bags in his closet--”

When he is met with an odd silence, he looks down and sees the red light at the top of his walkie-talkie dim out; blinking once with a dying red before going dark. Tooru groans, feeling more annoyed than afraid in that instant. “Crrrrraaap salad.” He mutters, cramming the device into his other pocket.  

He reaches for his phone, clutching at his still lurching stomach, and thumbs over to his camera. He manages to turn on the flash when his ringtone goes off loudly. Already on edge as he is, Tooru shrieks at the sudden noise and drops his phone in a heap of random shirts next to the small fridge. He rolls forward on his knees, begging the phone to stop ringing. He fishes it out quickly, fumbles with the swipe to answer until he hears Hajime’s panicked voice on the other line.

“He’s in the courtyard! Get back over here now!”

“FUCK!” Tooru shouts, kicking the fridge shut with his foot.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!" He mutters frantically, half-stumbling, half-running out of the room and down the hall. He practically vaults over Kuroo’s couch and incidentally over his cat and sprints down the foyer and out the door. He bangs on his door desperately for Hajime to let him in, the very opposite of stealthy and unassuming, and falls face first into Hajime’s chest when his friends yanks the door open and tugs him inside. The door closes just as Kuroo exits the elevator, Tooru sees from the peephole in their door; he can just barely make out Kuroo’s dark hoodie from the awkward angle but thankfully, he doesn’t have to crane his head for long, as the hallway is relatively short. Kuroo looks over his shoulder--awfully suspicious, Tooru thinks-- before quickly slipping into his apartment.

“Did he see you?” Hajime whispers harshly, nudging Tooru out of the way to look for himself.

“I don’t think so,” Tooru says between breaths, clutching at his chest. His heart feels like it might burst out from his ribs any second. He slides down the door until his butt hits the floor, and it’s then that something sharp juts up into his left cheek. He yelps and shoots back up, grabbing at his butt. “What the fuck--Oh, boy.” He mouths slowly when he feels a familiar shape in his pocket. Without acknowledging Hajime’s curious stare, Tooru dashes into his bedroom and locks the door behind him.

“Oi! Aren’t you going to at least tell me what you saw?” Hajime shouts through the door. Tooru can just barely hear him over the sound of his own blood rushing through his temples. He holds the pendant up to eye level, breath coming out in shallow pants. “Didn’t I put you back?” He asks, as if the snake resting in the middle would suddenly come to life and bestow an answer upon him.

“It’s okay, I don’t speak _parseltongue_ anyway,” He jokes, though his shaky laughter betrays how thoroughly unnerved he is. He could’ve _sworn_ he set it back down. He can’t recall putting it in his pocket at any point in the five minutes he was in Kuroo’s bedroom. But then again, he’s always had a bit of a one-track mind once his determination really sets in, so it’s certainly possible that he wasn’t paying attention, but even if he _could_ remember, it means fuck all now because he _stole_ something from Kuroo --a Vampire-- and it looks like something he would definitely notice is missing.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shiiiiiiiit.” Tooru curses harshly, pacing around his room with the charm clenched in his hand. He pauses every so often to stare at it, like it will somehow give in and present him with the answer to his dilemma. Irritatingly enough, it does not, which only makes Tooru feel more anxious.

He flops backwards onto his bed and slings his arm over his eyes. “I am so screwed.” He whispers on a sigh, overcome with a sudden wave of exhaustion. The last thing he sees before drifting off are the stars on his ceiling, swirling and roiling and blending together in a mix of greens and pinks.

*****

He doesn’t know how long he was asleep for, hell, he doesn’t even remember _falling_ asleep in the first place, but he jerks awake at the insistent banging on his door and the worried calls of his friends through the thin wood.

“We should call the police or something right?” He hears Takahiro ask quickly, followed by Hajime’s more subdued ‘I don’t know’, followed by more pleading and banging. Tooru clutches his head with a groan as he sits up. “What the heck,” He slurs, standing with the urgency of a freshly retired grandfather. He can hear his friends cries, but it’s difficult to find the energy to move past anything but a pained gait. When he does eventually make it to the door, it feels like it takes all the strength in him just to wrench the door open, and his friends immediately pile in.

“Dude-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“We’ve been knocking for like two hours, man! We thought you were dead or something!”

They speak in unison and they speak loudly, and Tooru winces at the collectively bass of their voices assaulting his ears.

“Are you okay? You look like shit.” Issei says, putting the back of his hand to Tooru’s forehead, “You’re kinda warm.”

Takahiro and Hajime shift closer, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you look sick, dude,” Takahiro points out, “Your eyes are glassy-”

“-And you’re really flushed.” Hajime finishes sternly, hands on his hips, "I’ll bring you a cold compress.”

There is no mention of last night’s debacle, and for the first time since this whole ordeal began, Tooru is happy not to bring it up. Right now, all he wants is the warmth of his comforter around him. Issei guides Tooru back to his bed and helps him settle back in. “I don’t feel good.” Tooru rasps. His throat feels like sandpaper.

“There’s a cold going around,” Issei replies as he hands Tooru the half-empty water bottle on the nightstand, “And you’ve been stressed about exams, haven’t you? That kind of stuff wreaks havoc on your immune system if you don’t take care of yourself.”

Tooru nods weakly. “Yeah, I know.”

Hajime eventually returns with a cold compress and a bowl of soup and some toast; both of which he all but forces down Tooru’s throat when he mutters about not having an appetite. After being tortured for the better part of an hour, or, what Hajime would call ‘looking out for your well being since clearly _you’re_ not going to’, Tooru is alone in his room, once again inspecting the strange serpent charm.

It’s weird; he can’t be imagining the warmth on his chest, right where he rested it, can he? It’s sitting there, warming the skin of his bare chest like a hot coal, and even when he feels like he _should_ move it, when that warmth creeps through his core and down his limbs like it has a mind of its own, something tells him not to. He runs the pad of his index finger over the emerald eyes of the serpent, marveling at how remarkably alive it feels.

“What are you?” He whispers absently. 

The more he looks at it, the more It feels like he's floating in a warm bath, like his body is melting into the sheets of his bed. A new wave of tiredness washes over him and before long, his eyes start to droop. Tooru sets it down finally, when the sun has set and his friends are down the hall laughing at late night sitcoms, and curls into himself, shivering. He falls into a fitful, nightmarish sleep; one filled with snakes and blood and moving shadows.

*****

Nearly a week passes before Tooru even considers crawling out of bed and into decent clothes that aren’t his pajamas. And even then, it’s a struggle to trudge down the hall to the elevator, _not_ puke himself inside out whilst _in_ the elevator, and then trudge all the way to school and back. The second he sits down in his seat, Tooru already wants to go home, thoroughly convinced he won’t make it even a quarter of the way through his day.

He thinks this through all of his classes and his study group, and by the time he is on his way home, he doesn’t feel any better, not by a long shot, but he’s proud of himself for at least making it through the day.

And it’s not even that he feels ‘sick’, his cold passed rather quickly, given how awful he looked and felt. But the lethargy is what remained, following him frustratingly through his week like a shadow on the wall; Tooru can barely keep his eyes open as he jabs at the up button for the elevator. He all but collapses into the small space as soon as the door opens, moaning softly at the sweet respite of a cool surface to lean against.

He doesn’t feel bad, just fucking _tired_.

“You’ve definitely looked better.” A familiar voice suddenly coos from his left, and just like that, every single ounce of energy that had been bleeding out of him since the weekend flows into him like restored Godhood at the foot of Mt. Olympus. Too bad it’s from sheer panic.

“Hello,” Kuroo begins smoothly as he settles in his usual spot against the other wall of the elevator. Tooru does not appreciate the sense of deja vu.

“Hey,” Tooru mumbles, eyeing the vampire warily. He shoves his hands in his pockets, lest any unseen papercuts entice Kuroo into trying to rip him apart, like the last time. He doesn’t take his eyes off of him for a second, even as the elevator jerks violently before slowly ascending. He’s too scared of Kuroo to notice anything else.

It’s around the second floor when Kuroo turns to him, a strange, toothy smile on his face. “You know, the funniest thing happened to me the other day.”

He lets that hang in the tense silence of the elevator, seemingly waiting for Tooru to humor him. Out of nothing but self-preservation, Tooru does exactly that. “Oh, yeah?”

“Heh, yes.” Kuroo says with an eerily saccharine smile and Tooru sees that Kuroo isn’t even trying to hide his _true nature_ anymore. His fangs are fully protracted and glinting menacingly, even in the fluorescent lighting of the elevator. “I came home, and I noticed the strangest smell in my apartment.”

The seemingly innocuous look on his face and the sharp fangs poking out from just beneath his lips paint two entirely different pictures on one face, neither of which Tooru is interested in.

“I thought,” Kuroo continues, “‘hey, maybe Isis ate something she shouldn’t have and is a little sick’, you know how cats are.”

“Y-yeah.”

Kuroo steeples his fingers, laughing to himself. “But then I noticed the smell lingering in every room, including my bedroom, and the more I smelled it, the more I recognized it.”

“What was it?”

_“Human.”_

By this time, Kuroo is standing less than a foot away. “And, huh, wouldn’t you know it. It turns out, I’d been robbed.”

“Robbed?” Tooru squeaks.

Kuroo settles next to him, looking straight ahead and bounces himself off the elevator wall a couple of times with his hands. “Yeah. Robbed.”

_Shit. He knows._

“What did they take?”

“Something priceless. A pendant that has been in my family for a long, long time. Weirdly enough, it was the only thing they took.” He turns to Tooru, “Isn’t that terrible? I didn’t think this was that kind of neighborhood.”

“We-well, there has been a string of break-ins in the area pretty recently,” Tooru offers, staring hard at the floor. He feels the distance between them gradually lessening as Kuroo rolls onto his side, facing him. Those golden eyes are narrowed and bright, boring into him.

“And that would be a damn shame, if it were true.”

Despite intense terror coursing like icy rapids through his body, Tooru forces an affronted look onto his face and turns to face Kuroo head on. At this point, bravado is all he’s got. “Excuse me? Are you accusing me of something?”

There are about a hundred different things that could’ve happened right then, but Kuroo smiling and curling towards him, inhaling softly and chuckling is certainly scraping the bottom of that barrel. He nods to himself, silently confirming what in his heart Tooru already knows that Kuroo knows.

“I think we both know the answer to that question.” Kuroo leans closer, “Human scents are very specific. By the way, thanks for leaving that IV bag on the floor. I appreciate you letting my dinner spoil,” Kuroo quips, "Can't exactly find fresh human blood on aisle two at the supermarket, you know."

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Really?” Kuroo’s gaze slides from Tooru’s face to his chest.

“If you’re innocent,” Kuroo reaches into Tooru’s coat, slides his palm over Tooru’s chest--it’s like a block of ice, he can feel the near frost through his thin t-shirt-- “Then why is your heart beating so fast?” He asks, voice low and just heady enough to almost mask the rage in his tone.

Almost.

“Don’t bullshit me, idiot,” Kuroo finally snaps, all niceties gone in an instant. He slams Tooru by the chest into the corner of the elevator; knocking the wind out of him. Just a fraction harder and Tooru is certain his arm would go right through him and splatter his entrails against the wall. He inhales deeply, and Tooru can feel his hand tremble with barely controlled rage against his chest.

“I _know_ it was you. It’s your human stench all over my fucking apartment, my _home,_ the only place I’m safe from your kind. What’s the matter?” His lips curl into a demonic smirk that nearly sucks Tooru’s soul right out of his body, “Did your friends not believe you? Did they laugh and scoff at the pictures you took of me the other night? Were you snooping around, looking for ‘proof’?”

Kuroo’s grip is so tight that Tooru can feel his nails tearing through his undershirt and raking against his skin. It’ll be any second before his heart is sitting in the palm of Kuroo’s hand, the pure anger in the vampire’s eyes radiates with a bloodlust even more intense than the last time. His eyes shift to the number display above their heads.

_Almost at our floor. I have to do something, quick!_

An idea suddenly pops into his head. Tooru can’t believe himself, but it’s either this or Kuroo rips him apart with his bare hands. He’s got nothing to lose.

The elevator dings.

**_5._ **

The door creaks open slowly; it feels like centuries pass before they open wide enough for Tooru to squeeze through. With a loud battle cry, Tooru throws his backpack off his shoulder and rams it into Kuroo’s face, forcing him back up against the button pad. One of the straps wraps around Kuroo’s head, and Tooru sees his opportunity.

He yanks it. Hard.

The strap immediately pulls taut against the back of Kuroo’s hair, the buckle getting tangled in the dark messy hair. Kuroo releases a loud, violent roar like a bat out of hell as he curses and claws at the heavy and now hopelessly tangled backpack. Tooru is momentarily frozen, watching.

...Right up until the second Kuroo’s nails tear off the entire from side of his bag, spilling his books and folders onto the floor.

“You’re dead.” Kuroo’s muffled voice hisses.

 _Come on, snap out of it._ He screams in his mind, _MOVE!_

His legs are about as stable as a bowl of jello on the edge of a table, but Tooru forces himself to do it. He dives out of the elevator just as the doors begin to close, muffling Kuroo’s snarls and screams. He lies there for a second, watches the elevator ascend, trying to quickly catch his breath before he hauls himself to his feet and runs down the hall towards his apartment. The hallway is so quiet; Tooru has never wanted to see another person, _anyone_ , so badly in his life. He skids to a stop in front of his door in record time, panting and sweating cold sweat down his neck and back. He’s so nauseous and dizzy; he could drop right here, and for a second, a wave of nausea courses through him, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Keys, keys,” He feels around frantically for a second, trying to keep his eyes focused on the peephole, the numbers, anywhere to keep them from rolling back into his head. He finally feels the bulge of his keys in his back pocket. A sudden bang down the hallway makes Tooru freeze, house key centimeters away from the lock. His head whips to the left, eyes wide like saucers, just in time to see the door to the stairs slowly pulling closed and a large black mass moving along the ceiling at incredible speed.

“Fuck!” He shouts, trying to get the key in the hole. But suddenly he’s seeing doubles of the key and lock and they’re spinning so fast, Tooru can feel his stomach lurch with the need to purge. It finally slides in just as the black mass hovers above him on the ceiling, and he tumbles in face-first into his apartment just as the coldness of a hand brushes over his neck.

“You,” Kuroo growls, eyes black and face contorted, “Give it back to me.”

Tooru shuffles backwards further into the foyer, waiting for Kuroo to come in and tear his head off his body and drink him dry. But after a few seconds, he notices that Kuroo is still lingering in the doorway, gripping the wall so hard it’s starting to crack under the pressure of his grip.

“Give it back,” he demands again, but the edge in his voice is slowly starting to disappear. Tooru slowly stands to his feet, watching amazed as Kuroo’s face and eyes gradually return to normal. He wonders what brought about the sudden change when he hears laughter and talking from down the hallway. Kuroo glares at him, still breathing heavily, but there is something in his eyes that Tooru can’t quite read, but it seems almost like…

Regret?

Guilt?

“And so I told her, look, if you want to get a refund for this, you’re going to have to find your receipt, otherwise-” A high but pleasant female voice fills his ears slowly, growing louder as she gets closer. From behind Kuroo’s frame, he sees the mother from the other day walk by, cell phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she chats with someone on the other line. One of her sons trails behind her, swinging around an action figure, making flying noises.

Tooru worriedly looks from them to Kuroo.

He’s simply watching them walk by, eyes narrowed with irritation and that other emotion that Tooru is still not sure he actually saw. In that very instant, at the same time, something dawns on him. Something he’d been secretly wondering about for as long as he’s believed in anything remotely supernatural. Something he might now have a definitive answer to.

“You can’t come in, can you?” He whispers softly, but it’s enough. Kuroo turns sharply to face him, and Tooru can see those fangs like hypodermic needles slide out again. But he is strangely silent. Tooru takes a half-step forward, trembling and weak, but he has to know.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” He points down at the threshold of his apartment, where Kuroo is treading, before glancing back up. “Vampires have to be invited in.”

Kuroo lets out a heavy breath before giving Tooru a wry smile. “You think that’s going to keep you safe?”

Tooru can’t help the small smirk of relief that snakes its way onto his face. “I still have my head attached to my body, don’t I?”

“I suppose. But it won’t matter in a few days,” Kuroo folds his arms across his chest, sizing Tooru up, tutting with his tongue, “It looks like Daishou is already milking you for all you’re worth.”

“What?”

“You’re not well,” Kuroo says, amused, “I’m assuming this started the same night you swiped my pendant from me?”

Tooru doesn’t answer, but it seems his silence is enough of a response for Kuroo, because the vampire chuckles mockingly from the doorway. “I hope it was worth it.”

“I didn’t mean to take it.”

“Oh?” Kuroo raises an eyebrow questioningly, “Then just give it back.”

Tooru inches towards his room. He could give it back, he should give it back. But…

“No.”

The wood of the door border splinters in Kuroo’s grip. “Why,” He growls, that demonic edge creeping back into his voice, “ _Not_?”

“I-” Tooru pauses. His mind goes blank. He feels like he might puke right here and now. He stumbles backwards, falls against the wall. He blinks rapidly, trying to get Kuroo’s tall frame to stop spinning in front of him. Kuroo’s soft laughter suddenly fills his ears, making them ring uncomfortably.

“I wann-a, wanna, know,” He pants, “What is it? Is it what’s making me sic-hic-sick?”

Kuroo remains silent, save for the mocking click of his tongue as he watches Tooru sink down to the floor.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Tooru says, “I’m in here, and you’re out there. You can’t get to me if I don’t invite you in.”

Kuroo’s face crinkles with amusement. “You won’t last through the week, at the rate you’re going,” He laughs, pushing himself off the door, “even less, actually, considering you’ve thoroughly pissed me off. You can’t stay holed up in there forever.”

And before Tooru has the chance to respond, Kuroo throws him one last cryptic smile and walks away. Tooru hears a door open and close across the hall, and then everything is way too silent. Everything except for the loud rush of his blood pulsing through his skull. His stomach protests right at that moment, and Tooru scrambles to the bathroom. When all he has left are dry heaves, he hauls himself up to the sink, tries to steady himself on buckling arms and stares in the mirror. He’s pasty pale, and his forehead is damp with sweat, and not just from the events that have just transpired. His eyes start to roll back, and Tooru moans with discomfort as he lurches forward, resting his face against the cool glass.

“Oh, my god.” He rasps.

_What the fuck have I done?_


	2. Under Your Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry guys. So so SO sorry about the four month delay. It's been a hectic time for me. I started my first clinical rotation right after I posted the first chapter, so I had no life for about two months, and then after that, well, adulting is hard. 
> 
> That being said, a HUGE thank you for all the love and support so far. I've gotten so many sweet messages here, on tumblr, and especially on twitter from a lot of you. You'll never know how much I appreciate it, guys.
> 
> And as you may have noticed, this went from three to four chapters. This story has evolved in my head a lot over the past few months too, so I've scrapped a lot of the original outline. The main plot is still the same, don't worry, but yeah. I just added more in lol 
> 
> //That// being said, this chapter is a little darker than the first. If you're squeamish or anything, fair warning. I've altered the tags for this reason alone. Also, there are several mentions of vomiting, so if you're like me and don't care to read it, you can ctrl f from 'their band' to 'again', 'Tooru' to 'coughing', 'the result' to 'himself', 'Are you' to 'blood', 'immediately' to 'his bed', 'He' to 'for him', and finally, 'the bathroom' to 'red'
> 
> I wasn't kidding lol But i hope this works right! Thanks [Becky](https://twitter.com/dickaeopolis)
> 
> Also thanks to my wonderful beta, [Eli](https://twitter.com/TarlatanaEli), and [Puck](https://twitter.com/goodfellowes), who has done some more hella art, which you can find [here](http://goodfellowes.tumblr.com/post/154489618979/from-kurootetsurouvevos-that-go-bump-in-the)
> 
> Here's also a great sketch of Oikawa from @haikulester on Twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/haikulester/status/809411302854684673)
> 
>  And a lovely Oikawa and Kuroo from Hil @hedekitxt on twitter as well! [right here](https://twitter.com/Hedekitxt/status/811983272439726081)
> 
> The Dream [NSFW-ISH] by Gings @GingsScone on twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/GingsScone/status/812506822401781760)
> 
> Title of this chapter comes from the song Under Your Skin by Aesthetic Perfection.
> 
> You can find the rest of my playlist for this chapter [here!](https://open.spotify.com/user/sushibomb24/playlist/3GmTC45a4LuGtSG0yVu3w5)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Haikyuu!!

“I’m really worried about Oikawa, you guys.”

Hajime’s tone reflects the somber atmosphere in the room at that moment. After all, they’ve all been thinking the same thing for days already. The three of them--himself, Issei, and Takahiro, sit around their breakfast, silent and sullen as they listen to the fourth member of their band vomiting himself into unconsciousness in the bathroom again.

It’s been over a week now since Tooru’s been ‘just a little under the weather’, it’s so like Tooru to just brush off their worries with a simple excuse and a noncommittal flip of the wrist. But to the three of them, who have all known him for most of his life, it is clear that Tooru is the farthest thing in the catalogued universe from ‘fine’. He hasn’t gone to class in days, barely eats anything at all, and when he does, he can’t seem to keep it down.

And it isn’t just a physical sickness, either.

Hell, if it were only that, it might not be so worrying.

He sleeps. A lot.

For anyone else, it would seem like a minor thing. But for someone like Tooru, someone who used to think that four hours was a decent night’s rest, suddenly sleeping for twelve to fourteen hours straight is too drastic of a change to be normal.

Sometimes, he sleeps like he’s dead. As motionless as a corpse. Even when they get scared and smack him on the thighs, his cheeks, pinch at the underside of his feet, _anything_ to get some kind of reaction out of him, even if it’s an angry one so they’d at least know he hasn’t died in his sleep, he doesn’t budge. Those times, they fear that if they leave his bedside for even a minute, they might lose him in his sleep.

And then there’s those times when his sleep is restless and fitful. They can hear him tossing and turning at night, calling out to someone unseen, and crying. But when they ask him about it in the morning, Tooru just stares at them blankly, confused.

_“What the hell are you guys talking about?”_

They catch him staring off into space a lot. But it’s not his usual space cadet among the clouds way of daydreaming. This is more like the distant stare of a person who’s just been lobotomized.

“Tooru?”

The static on the TV only seems to grow louder in the absence of Tooru’s response. He’s sat on the floor, eyes wide and glued to the screen, mesmerized by something they can’t see.

Takahiro crouches down next to him, worrying his lip with his teeth. Hesitantly, he reaches out and shakes his friend gently by the shoulder, calling to him. “Tooru, hey.”

At first, it doesn’t seem like he’d gotten through to him, but after a moment, he blinks once. Twice. Looks around the room like he doesn’t recognize it. “Wha?”

Takahiro breathes a sigh of relief upon hearing his voice. He looks back to Issei and Hajime, who are standing behind the couch, watching the scene unfold anxiously. “Hey, you’ve been sitting here staring at the TV fuzz for like an hour,” Takahiro says with a nervous laugh, “What the hell’s going on with you, dude? You’re starting to scare everybody.”

And Tooru says what he always says. It’s become his mantra over time. “Oh, I’m alright,” He says mechanically, “Just a little tired.”

His smile slides off his face before he even looks away, and he pushes himself to his feet and heads off in the direction of his bedroom. They hear his door close softly, and after that, not a single peep.

Tooru is _anything_ but fucking fine, and they all know it.

Hajime slams his spoon down on the table at the sound of Tooru violently heaving and coughing and stands abruptly, startling both of his friends.

“I’ve had it with this. He’s going to the hospital, even if I have to drag his ass there.” Hajime says before marching off to the bathroom. Issei and Takahiro look to each other worriedly before chasing after him. They stop just behind him in the hallway, waiting as he bangs on the bathroom door. Naturally, it’s locked. Tooru’s really come to value his privacy in these past few days, too.

“Oikawa, open this fucking door. I’m taking you to the hospital. Right now.”

They hear shuffling, followed by a moan of pain. “N-no,” Comes the pathetic whimper of a reply, so far from the sing-song tone they’re used to, “I’m fine, just...just leave me alone.”

“Oikawa!” Hajime snaps, already at the end of his fuse, “Open this door or so help me God I will break it down.”

Silence.

“Oikawa, please? You’re really sick, dude. We’re worried about you.” Takahiro says, leaning close to the door, trying to listen for anything, any sign that Tooru is listening, but when he is answered with nothing but unnerving silence, he moves away and looks to his friends with furrowed brows.

“Oikawa, just open the door. Let us take you to the doctor,” Issei tries as well, “This is getting out of hand. I don’t think this is a simple flu or whatever, I jus-“

The door unlocks and slowly opens.

Three sets of eyes go wide.

“Oh my god, Oikawa.”

To simply say that he looks like death warmed up is a massive understatement. One step below a living corpse would be more accurate. He is a shell of himself; a pale, pasty husk of a boy that can barely stand on his own two feet without leaning on something for support. They can hear how ragged his breathing is; the result of vomiting himself into near dehydration. His hair, what isn’t damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead, hangs dull and lifeless in his eyes. His eyes themselves, usually a sparkling and cheerful honey brown, have since faded into the color of dead and decaying leaves; an ugly, depressing, faded brown that colors his irises behind a soulless glaze. Despite how much Tooru has been sleeping, the bags under his eyes are extremely prominent.

He’s withering away right before their eyes, and they’re helpless to stop it.

“I said, I’m fine.” He repeats mechanically, eyes glazed over. He shoves through them to get to his bedroom, wiping at his mouth. The trace of red that smears next to his lips makes their hearts drop. Hajime grabs him by the arm, holding him in place. If Tooru won’t stop to listen, then he’s going to _force_ him to listen.

“You’re not fucking fine, Oikawa. Stop telling us you’re fine. You’re sick, and we need to get you to a doctor.”

Hajime grabs him by the chin, forces Tooru to face them head-on. “Are you throwing up blood?”

Tooru tries desperately to wrench himself out of Hajime’s grip, but it's obvious that he's gotten very weak in these last few days. Even just pushing against him, it is clear that he’s close to passing out from exhaustion. Hajime loosens his grip slightly, worried that if he grabbed his best friend any harder he might actually break his arm.

"Guys, I'll be okay," Tooru pleads, desperately pulling away, trying to get to his bedroom door, "It's just a bad bug that's going around at school. It's nothing to-to-"

His plea is interrupted by more violent coughs, and when he pulls his fist away, it is coated with bright red speckles of blood. Tooru blinks rapidly, breathing labored. He clutches the wall for purchase, fighting off the dizziness.

"Oikawa. You've been acting weird ever since that night last week. I'm scared that maybe you caught something in that guy's apartment."

Tooru can't help but laugh dryly at that. If only he knew. "Like what, Iwa-chan?"

Hajime shrugs defensively. "I don't know, like a parasite or something? You said he had a lot of weird shit in there, didn't you? You never know about people, nowadays."

Tooru scoffs. "You got that right."

He stumbles the short distance down the hall to his bedroom, Hajime and the others following closely behind, ready to catch him should he fall. And by the way Tooru is clinging to the wall, it might really be a possibility.

"What are you guys talking about?" Takahiro whispers to Hajime. But before he can answer, Tooru whips around and stops him.

"Don't, Iwa-chan. Please. No one else needs to be involved in this. Just leave me alone."

He does finally make it to his room, amazingly. He wipes at his mouth again with the hem of his vomit-stained t-shirt as he turns to address them. He is truly a pitiful sight; his friends wince in mild disgust and concern for their ex-captain when he clutches at his stomach, looking like he might make another mad dash to the bathroom any second.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Hajime blocks his path, “You’re going to the doctor. Today.” He barricades the door with his arm and his leg, preventing Tooru from passing.

“Iwa-chan, just let me lie down. Please.” Tooru whimpers, shoving weakly at Hajime’s arm. But Hajime refuses to budge.

“No. I’ll bring you out a change of clothes, but if you think I’m gonna give you the chance to lock yourself in here again, you’re wrong.”

“Iwa-chan. Move.” Tooru says, an edge in his voice that catches the three of them off guard. He’s angry, but it’s the first genuine emotion they’ve seen from him in a week. They don’t know whether to be hopeful or nervous about it.

“Im. Not. Moving.” Hajime says slowly, rising to the challenge.

And then Tooru shocks them all. It’s so fast they miss it. They don’t even realize what happened until,

“Did you just fucking _bite_ me?!” Hajime hollers, wincing and clutching his forearm.

Bite is putting it lightly. Ants, insects, kittens, lovers, _they_ bite.

Tooru, however, literally _mauls_ him.

It's like a scene right out of a horror movie. Hajime pulls his now bloodied hand away from his arm, eyes wide as he takes in the perfect imprint of Tooru’s teeth in his arm before he looks to his best friend in horrified disbelief.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you losing your goddamn mind?”

Tooru stares back at him, eyes bulging and breathing hard. His lips and teeth are stained with blood, _Hajime’s_ blood. His eyes flit quickly from the Hajime’s face to his arm, and his tongue flicks out to lick off the blood dripping from the side of his mouth. They can only look on, horrified, as Tooru uses their momentary shock to dart in his room and slam the door closed.

“Oikawa!” His friends start to shout through the thin wood, but to no avail. He drowns out their voices with his hands, tears running down his face.

_I just bit Iwa-chan. I just bit him! Like an animal! What the hell is wrong with me?_

"I just need to lie down. I need to sleep. I'll be okay."  He assures himself as he anxiously shambles towards his bed, still trying to process what just happened. His friends are still banging on the door. He glances back over his shoulder, chews his blood-stained lip so hard that he cuts himself. As the taste of the coppery liquid slides down his throat, his and Hajime’s, Tooru chokes back a sob.

He just can't face them right now. Not like this. He barely feels human anymore.

Tooru strips his dirty clothes off and throws them on top of his hamper, on top of the several other shirts he's ruined with vomit this past week. With a whimper, he crawls over his sheets and slides into bed in his underwear, the cool sheets feel like heaven against his feverish skin. He lies on his back, stares up at the ceiling, watches it start to spin slowly, as it always does. The nauseating dizziness is the one constant in this ordeal, it’s never-ending and never lessens. The stars and planets melt together like paints mixing before his vision starts to go dark.

He groans and clutches his face, covering his eyes, panting nervously. "Please, not again." He moans softly, feeling the creep of exhaustion washing over him yet again.

He would welcome it, if it wasn't for the nightmares.

His last thought before passing out is that his friends don’t know the half of it. Hell, they’re only seeing the tip of the iceberg. They don’t know what goes on beyond his door, beyond the boundary of his mind.

They haven’t seen _him._

 

*****

 

Hajime bangs on the door one last time; any harder and the wood would split under his fist. It hurts, his arm hurts, but neither are as painful as watching his best friend do this to himself. But he’s at the end of his fuse.

Hajime steps away from the door in a huff, vein bulging in his temple. He can’t tell whether he’s scared or just furious. A little of both, really.

“You know what? Fine. If he wants to stay in there and fucking wither away, then let him.” Hajime snaps, hand clenched over the bite. It stings like all hell, and it takes some impressive persuading on Issei’s part to finally get him to move his hand so he can properly see it.

“Come on, into the bathroom you go.” Issei says, guiding Hajime into the tiny bathroom. Takahiro wanders in after them and perches himself on the edge of the tub. Hajime practically falls onto the toilet. He sticks his arm out for his friends to see under the brighter light of the bathroom. So they can see the full extent of Tooru’s savagery. Takahiro lets out a loud ‘ooof’, grimaces at the awful looking bite.

“It’s a perfect imprint too,” Issei remarks after letting out a low whistle, “How hard do you have to bite a person to make a mess like this? Goddamn.”

“It was fast as hell, too,” Takahiro says, “Like he’s a pit viper or something.”

Hajime snorts ruefully. “He’s losing it. I’m really worried about him, and clearly, I have every reason to be.”

Neither Issei nor Takahiro, who is huddled at the edge of the bathtub to Hajime’s right in order to get a better look, want to outwardly agree with him, but the look they give each other betrays their fears better than words ever could.

Issei poises a bottle of hydrogen peroxide over the wound. “Ready?”

Hajime steels himself and nods once.

“Okay, here we go.” With that, Issei pours a few capfuls over it, casting his friend an apologetic look when Hajime bites down on his fist. “Sorry.”

Hajime inhales shakily, but gives them a smile. “It’s all good. I’m alright. It just stings like a bitch, is all.”

“By the way, what were you guys talking about before?” Takahiro asks, “What did Oikawa not want you to tell us?”

At that, Issei stops cleaning the bite, also curious to hear the answer. Two sets of eyes pin him, and Hajime stutters. “Uh, um...I-”

“It’s not like Oikawa to keep secrets from us,” Takahiro says, and Issei backs him up with a small, ‘yeah’ as he continues to clean blood off Hajime’s arm. Hajime looks everywhere but in either of their directions, instead looking over his shoulder in the direction of Tooru’s bedroom, as if he could look through the walls and see his best friend glaring at him not to say a word.

But it’s for the best. Hajime sighs and leans forward. “I let Oikawa do something really stupid.”

“It sure wouldn’t be the first time.” Issei remarks with a light laugh.

“Meaning?” Takahiro presses.

“You know how he’s been on that whole spiel about that guy across the hall and the vampire nonsense?”

It’s amazing how in sync his two friends sometimes are. They both lean in closer, eyes narrowing.

“...yeah…?”

Hajime scratches his head sheepishly. “Well, somehow, he roped me into letting him sneak into the guy’s apartment to, and I quote, ‘find evidence’.”

“Wow.”

“I’m...yeah. Whoa. I never thought Oikawa would really go that far...it’s like high school all over again.”

Hajime laughs, shrugging. “Yeah, sure feels like it. But...and, well, that was the night before he got sick. I can’t help but think that maybe that guy has something in his place that is toxic or something, and Oikawa got into it, somehow.”

Hajime runs a hand down his face. “Ahhh, this is all my fault. I should’ve stopped him right then and there.”

Issei rubs his shoulder soothingly. “Hey, come on, don’t blame yourself. Oikawa does what Oikawa wants. He was gonna do it regardless, and deep down you know it’s true. You were only looking out for him.”

Silence fills the small bathroom for a beat, save Hajime’s pained grunts when Issei starts to bandage up his arm. Until,

“So… _did_ he?”

Both Hajime and Issei look at Takahiro. “Eh?”

“Evidence, I mean,” Takahiro elaborates fidgeting, “Did Oikawa find anything?”

Hajime thinks back to that night. Thinks back to how freaked out Tooru suddenly was. Thinks about how Tooru went ashen and barricaded himself in his room for the rest of the night. It wasn’t like he had a chance to even ask. “He didn’t say anything, really. Just told me about the weird stuff Kuroo has in his place--oh, that’s his name, by the way,” He says, “We met him officially the other day, but yeah. Nothing solid, nothing I’d take as any kind of proof of vampire...ness…?”

“Okay, so why don’t we just ask _him_ then?” Issei asks.

Hajime gives him a weird look. “Ask who?”

“This Kuroo guy.”

“What are you, crazy?” Hajime whirls on him, “What are we gonna say? ‘Oh, hey, so, our friend kind of thinks you’re a vampire and he broke into your apartment to look for proof, and now he’s really sick and maybe, possibly, dying? You wouldn’t happen to know what’s wrong, would you’?”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure that’ll go over _really_ well, Mattsun.”

Issei glances down at him, nonplussed before shrugging and recapping the peroxide. “Well, I guess it depends on him, right? Like, yeah, sure he’s probably going to be mad, but it’s still worth a shot. At the very least, what’s a lawsuit over trying to helping our friend?”

“Even if you take the ‘Oikawa breaking into his apartment’ part out of the equation, I still doubt he’d be willing to help,” Hajime gripes, remembering their first encounter with the mysterious guy, “He’s not exactly the friendliest dude around. Which reminds me…”

Hajime gives them both a dirty look. “Did you guys _actually_ fuck against his door? He told us about it. He was really pissed.”

He wonders immediately why he even bothered emphasizing Kuroo’s anger at that, because they aren’t even remotely sorry. The two share a laugh and high-five loudly. Hajime sighs into his free hand.

“I should probably just go alone…”

“You’re not going alone.”

“I think he’d be more willing to listen if you two aren’t there. He seems like the type who-” Hajime stumbles over his words when Issei grabs his chin and forces Hajime to look directly up at him.

“Now you listen. Oikawa’s our friend too, and to be honest, we don’t really trust that guy. He’s kind of shady, but not in a good way-”

Hajime deadpans. “-Is there even a good way to be shady-”

“-You’re going with us, or you’re not going at all. That’s final.”

Hajime frowns up at him, but eventually, he nods slowly in defeat. Takahiro, however, is in awe.

“Babe, that was so hot.”

Issei drops Hajime’s face and winks at his boyfriend. “Bitches get shit done.”

Hajime just grumbles.

 

*****

 

Kuroo looks every bit as unimpressed by their plea as Hajime expected him to.

Though that might be in large part to the fact that they probably should’ve waited until the guy was at least actually awake and functional enough to care about it in the first place, but Hajime isn’t sure Tooru has the luxury of them waiting right now. His arm throbs painfully at the thought.

Kuroo is huddled in the teeny sliver of his dark foyer that isn’t drowning in sunlight every time someone opens the door to the outside stairwell, wearing nothing but a giant sweater and a whole lot of silent rage at being woken up at three in the afternoon. His eyes are narrowed into slits, and Hajime isn’t sure if it’s because he’s irritated or because it’s too bright for him right now.

Hajime also isn’t sure if Kuroo is actually even listening to him; what little of the attention that he’s giving seems to be focused more on Issei and Takahiro at this very moment... his glare has only increased in intensity in the three minutes they’ve been at his door. Any more and Hajime is sure he’d bore holes into the both of them.

Regardless, Hajime keeps talking, hoping that, maybe, Kuroo will know what’s wrong and want to help. And, in the very least, hopefully he won’t press charges against Tooru for breaking into his apartment. But by the way Kuroo’s arms cross over his chest, and by the way his lips purse as he sizes the three of them up, Hajime has a feeling they might’ve just made an already dire situation a whole lot worse.

“So, in short, I’m really sorry to cause you all this trouble, but we wouldn’t be over here if we didn’t think that this was an emergency.”

A snort. “I don’t see why I should help you.” Kuroo says, “Maybe this’ll be a lesson to him to mind his own business.”

Hajime mentally curses. That was more or less the exact response he was expecting to hear. But he has to try. He bows his head deeply in apology. “Look I know Oikawa is an overly-obsessed dimwit. He has a one-track mind and he’s been that way since we were little. But he’s-”

“Is that supposed to make feel bad for him? Because it doesn’t.” Kuroo intones coldly.

“But he’s our friend,” Hajime continues over him, “He’s my best friend. I can’t stand to see him like this anymore. He won’t eat, he sleeps for days, and when he isn’t sleeping he’s puking himself inside out. I’m scared for him. _We’re_ scared for him. Please, if there’s anything that you can do, we’ll never bother you again, just…”

Hajime feels a lump growing in his throat. The bite on his arm courses with pain from how tightly he’s clenching his fist, but he refuses to cry.

“How long has he been sick?” Kuroo questions boredly. In the back of his mind, Hajime has to fight down the urge to punch the dark-haired man in the face for reacting with such disinterest to their friend’s illness. But then again, it’s not his fault Tooru is an idiot. He has every right to not give a shit; after all, Tooru brought this on himself, and Hajime knows that.

But _still_.

“About a week or so? We guess?” Issei replies.

Under any other circumstance, the look of unbridled repugnance Kuroo gives Issei would be absolutely hilarious. But right now, Hajime really regrets bringing them along. Kuroo doesn’t seem like the type who forgives and forgets even the most minor of slights.

He sighs and comes to stand between his two friends. Two pained grunts and a hissed ‘apologize to him!’ and then both Takahiro and Issei are bent at the waist, Hajime’s hands on their heads, forcing them both into deep bows.

“You two wanted to come along, now say you’re sorry too or we’re not going to get anywhere.”

Kuroo stares at the display while chewing on his thumbnail, expression unreadable.

“We’re sorry for being disrespectful.” Issei says.

“Sorry for boinking against your door.” Takahiro says with significantly less refinement.

Hajime lets them up, and the three give Kuroo determined glances, praying that with that little speed bump out of the way, he’d actually consider their plea. The three of them watch as Kuroo mulls it over. It feels like an eternity; they each get this sneaking suspicion that Kuroo is purposely letting them dangle. His eyes flit from face to face, alight with a quiet amusement that they can’t help but be unnerved by.

 _What is this guy? Some kind of fucking sociopath?_ Hajime thinks.

But just when they think he’s going to say ‘nope!’ and slam the door in their faces, something in his expression finally shifts. His hands drop to his waist and slide in his sweater pockets and he gives them an easy, saccharine smile.

“It took a lot of nerve to come over here after all the trouble your friend has put me through, I guess I can applaud that. Yeah, I think I can help him.”

“You know what’s wrong with him?” Hajime asks.

Kuroo shrugs. “Not yet. I’d have to see him first.” He steps closer. “...Would you mind if I stopped by tonight?”

“Not so fast,” Issei says, “I want to know just what it is you’ve got in there--” He points into Kuroo’s pitch black apartment “--that could make Oikawa so sick. Who are you?”

Despite his obvious aversion to sunlight, Kuroo slinks out into the hallway without an ounce of hesitation and comes to stand toe to toe with Issei, standing just a hair shorter than Issei does. A wolfish smile exposes canines. “You just barely got me to agree to help your idiot friend," He says lowly. His hand lifts to pat Issei on the cheek a few times, and though he’s smiling, it’s not hard to read the thinly veiled threat in his tone. “I wouldn’t push it, if I were you.”

“Tonight will be fine,” Hajime quickly interjects, casting a look at his friend, who is still staring at Kuroo with wide, furious eyes. He pushes both Issei and Takahiro in the direction of their apartment with a quiet, “Just go, okay?”

“Why not right _now_?” Takahiro insists over Hajime’s shoulder. Kuroo doesn’t even sniff in his direction. “‘Cause I’m sleeping right now. Go away.”

With one final goading push, the pair lumber off reluctantly, but not before Takahiro throws one last disapproving look over his shoulder at the two of them. Hajime vaguely hears him mutter, “I can’t believe you just got threatened by a guy with no pants on” before they disappear inside the apartment.

“Tonight will be fine,” Hajime repeats with an eye-roll once he and Kuroo are alone, “The sooner, the better, though. I think Oikawa is in bad shape.”

Kuroo motions towards his arm with his head. “D’he do that this morning?”

Hajime rubs over the bandage with a frown. “Yeah…? Wait, how’d you know?”

Kuroo reaches towards the bandage, thumbs over right where the wound is firmly. “I can _smell_ it. I have a sharp nose.” His grip seems to tighten, so much that Hajime visibly winces at the sudden pressure and has to wrench his arm out of Kuroo’s grip. Kuroo stares at him sullenly as he pulls away, but it disappears quickly as he collects himself and shrinks back into the blackness of his foyer. “Anyway, I’ll come tonight around eight. Is that alright?”

_Okay that was definitely kind of weird..._

Hajime nods hesitantly, cradling his now bitten _and_ painfully throbbing arm. “That works. See you tonight.” He turns to head back to his apartment. “Oh and Kuroo?”

“Yes?”

“Uh, thanks.” Hajime says with a small and pained but genuine smile before walking inside, leaving Kuroo alone.

“No,” He says quietly, an impish little grin spreading across his lips as he closes his own door, enshrouding him in comfortable darkness once again, “Thank _you_.”

 

******

 

It always starts the same.

 _"Come here."_ Kuroo calls to him, his voice is smooth and enticing. Light, wispy tendrils of smoke billow out like the steam of a dragon’s breath from his nose and lips as he exhales his cigarette smoke. He sits in the same plush love-seat, amidst his bizarre collection, and Tooru can’t help but feel like he’s become the newest addition.  

Tooru clutches and fiddles with the hem of his shirt, shaking his head in the negative. _"No."_

Kuroo's eyes flash. He chuckles darkly as he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand next to him. He leans back into the cushion of his love seat and swings one leg over the other, still watching Tooru with sybaritic amusement. He beckons Tooru over again with an extended hand and crooked finger, his smile giving way to long, protracted fangs. _"Don't be scared,"_ He coos, and Tooru is so tempted, so, so tempted, to give in and take his hand, _"I'm not going to hurt you, Tooru."_

Everything about this screams _danger_. Kuroo has that glow in his eyes and in his smirk; those fangs glisten like crystals when the moonlight hits them just right. He looks every bit the predator Tooru knows he is. And yet, the lilt of his voice as he calls him closer has Tooru reeling right where he stands. Has Tooru inching towards him, ever so carefully.

It happens every single time.

How he ends up like this-- in the vampires personal quarters, in nothing but a shirt that barely reaches past his thighs, he has no idea. He has no recollection of anything before the instant he found himself in front of Kuroo.

All he knows is that he's nearly naked, he's vulnerable...

...and deep down, he might _like_ it.

It’s a dangerous high, this is part of the dream, one that he’s quickly getting addicted to. He can’t find the capacity to explain it, but being in the presence of a killer, a predator, being _hunted;_ it strikes a primal chord somewhere deep in his psyche. He’s not the one in control right now, and deep down, there is something about that helplessness that excites him. Kuroo’s hypnotic voice curls around his ears, drags Tooru to him like the call of the Void, and Tooru’s legs start to move of their own accord.

It’s all destined to go to hell very soon, but for now, he relishes this dreamscape.

His fingers twine with Kuroo’s as he dares to close the gap between them. Kuroo practically purrs up at him with delight as he tugs Tooru onto his lap.

“ _It’s okay,”_ He soothes, clawed fingers carding through Tooru’s hair, pushing it back out of his face, _“You’re safe here.”_

It’s a lie, of course. Kuroo is a vampire, after all. It’s in his nature to pacify his quarry into a false sense of security. Tooru knows this, but _damn_ , it’s so warm and comfortable here with him. Vampires are magnetic, their allure practically irresistible, and Tooru now accepts that part of the lore to be true. Kuroo’s got a hold on him like nothing he’s ever felt before, and even if it means that he’ll be flayed and bleeding at his feet, he can’t help but wrap himself around the vampire, to give in to him.

He wants this, there’s no point in denying it.

Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his cock is resting nearly flat against his stomach, hard and purple and moisture beading at the tip. He tugs his shirt down to cover himself, but Kuroo never lets him hide for long; his amber eyes travel up his legs, lingering at the bunched fabric in his hands, before looking up into his eyes. His gaze is full of hunger; in it, Tooru can see every intention. It's not just blood he's hungry for.

 _"Let me see,"_ Kuroo mouths up at him, and the way his fangs glint as they snag his bottom lip makes Tooru’s cock twitch beneath his hand. Kuroo gently uncurls his fist finger by finger from his shirt and lifts it to his lips. He plants open-mouthed kisses on the back of his hand and down along the side of thumb, down to his wrist, hissing softly against Tooru's skin.

It’s the most vivid and intense sensation Tooru’s felt, and it feels way too real to just be in his head. Tooru can hear himself panting, Kuroo's name lingering on the tip of his tongue, can hear how fucking hard his heart is pounding in his chest-- at this rate, Kuroo won't even have to touch him to make him come. One more kiss like that would be enough to push him over the edge.

But Kuroo does touch him, slowly, deliberately; his cool hand runs up the back of Tooru's thigh and cups his ass, making Tooru jump. He laughs against Tooru’s stomach as he smooths his hand up Tooru’s side, bringing his shirt up with it. The fabric brushes over his cockhead as it shifts up and Tooru’s breath hitches.

 _“Mmm,_ ” He moans, gripping Kuroo’s shoulder. He positively keens at the sensation. His fingers dive into Kuroo's hair, tugging at the unruly fringe, desperate. And Kuroo obliges him, every time.

He teases him with his fingers at first, rubs the pearl of pre-come over the head of Tooru’s cock with his thumb before squeezing it gently in his grip. He strokes along his length indolently, kissing at Tooru’s chest and stomach as he does, drinking in Tooru’s little moans and shudders. He pumps him harder when Tooru starts to fuck into his hand, eager to quicken the pace.

It’s such a rush having Kuroo this close to him; he knows at any time, if he really wanted to, Kuroo could drag those claws across his skin and spill his guts on the floor and into his lap. It’s morbid, he can admit this, but Kuroo is so tender, so expertly careful as he lets his tongue dip into Tooru’s bellybutton, that all thoughts of evisceration are pushed to the back of his mind. All logical thought disappears, leaving only the pure feeling of adrenaline to course through him. He always used to wake up around this part of the dream, hand immediately crammed down the front of his underwear. But it’s evolved in the last few days, the dream has begun to take a hold on him, keeps him high just a little bit longer.

And as incredible as dream Kuroo’s fingers feel, Tooru likes it even better when Kuroo uses his mouth.

Tooru eventually finds himself on his back, near delirious with arousal and his cock jutting up from his pelvis like a post, but at this point he hardly has the sense of modesty to look embarrassed about it. The sense of danger has never left, only taken a backseat to pleasure. He spreads himself wide so Kuroo can see how bad he wants this. Kuroo settles between his legs, eyes locked with his the whole time, and leans down so he can kiss and tease at the junction where the base of his dick joins the rest of his body. He flicks a skilled tongue over his balls, just to make Tooru jolt. It always does.

Tooru is a lot bolder in his dreams.

He pushes his cock down and brushes the head across Kuroo’s smirking lips. Those lips part for him, and Kuroo’s tongue pokes out and glides over the tip of Tooru’s cock languidly, circling the head until Tooru falls back against the cushion, eyes closed and breathing hard.

Logic tells him that he shouldn’t let this happen. Kuroo’s fangs are out and sharp as hell; he feels them when they catch the skin of his thigh as Kuroo’s kisses at the sensitive skin. The deep moans Kuroo lets out as he laps up the few single droplets of blood that bead on his skin send ripples up his body.

His cock is a billion times more sensitive, and it is engorged with blood. He’s letting a _vampire_ suck him off.

This is an insane exercise in trust, he thinks with a mental laugh.

But when Kuroo lets his teeth ghost over his cock, lets his canines brush over the flushed head of his erection, a literal bundle of ultra sensitive nerves, Tooru knows he has nothing to fear right now. Well, more like in this instant, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge any fear. It feels too fucking good to think about the ‘what ifs’.

 _“Oh god, Kuroo,_ ” He moans loud at the tight, warm sensation that pulses hot and electric through his core and coats his body in a thin sheen of sweat. Kuroo’s mouth is surprisingly warm as the vampire takes him in whole, cheeks fit tightly over his cock. He moves slowly, carefully, which Tooru appreciates, looks up at him with molten amber eyes that glow bright with the vampire’s own arousal. He pops off with a slick, wet sound, and moves lower to lave up the entire underside of his cock. He licks up until his tongue glides over the tip, plays with it for a second before taking it back into his mouth. He establishes a smooth but quick pace, and before long, Tooru is trembling in his grip, bucking his hips up into Kuroo’s mouth.

 _"I want you naked."_ Kuroo murmurs against his thigh when he finally releases his hold, working him with his hand instead. Tooru’s shirt immediately flies up over his head and lands on the floor next to them in a crumpled heap.

 _"Good."_ Kuroo leers down at him, and hoists him up by his thighs.

Next thing he knows, his back hits the wall painfully. But Tooru has no chance to register it before his lips are savaged and bloodied from fanged kisses. Kuroo sucks on his bottom lip eagerly, poking new holes in the sensitive skin with each fevered kiss. It hurts. _A_ _lot_. But the feeling of Kuroo’s tongue twining with his, the little moans he lets out as he rocks against him, the pressure of Kuroo’s cock against his as he grinds into him, it's all enough to dull his sense of pain.

He wants it so bad. Wants Kuroo to push inside of him and fuck him until his throat is raw. His cock leaks at the thought of it and he grinds back against Kuroo’s bulge, wordlessly pleading for him to finish Tooru off.

In Tooru’s peripheral vision, the shadows start to separate; they dance and mingle together into an amalgamation of blackness until, gradually, a figure starts to emerge. It’s been watching them the entire time. It creeps along the wall, thick and black like tar, coming closer and closer until Tooru finds himself ensnared by it. It burns to the touch.

The heat in his body fades into icy terror as Kuroo releases him and backs away, eyes blown pitch black with the intoxicating taste of fresh blood on his lips. Tooru cries and begs for it to let him go, for Kuroo to help him, But Kuroo only stands by, smile wicked and bloody as he watches the carnage unfold.

The grip constricts him, squeezes him until his eyes bulge out, until blood vessels burst, until his pulse starts to weaken.

Until bones and skin break.

The room and Kuroo fade to black and he falls to pieces on the muddy edge of a dark, dank swamp. He can see his arms and legs in the tall weeds, lying feet away, broken and bloodied, but he can’t get to them. And it’s so silent; not a single chirp or croak can be heard for miles.

All he can hear is his own labored, sporadic breathing, and choked sobs. He’s bleeding out, he dying. And he’s alone.

The thick black mud starts to bubble in front of him, and slowly, the figure from the room starts to take shape. In the dim light of this swamp, it barely looks human; there’s a head, a torso, and four limbs, but that’s where the resemblance stops. It moans and hisses as it hauls itself out of the muck, clawing towards him.

 _“Please God,”_ Tooru sobs. He can’t get away. He can only lie there, bleeding and helpless as it comes to consume him. In body, in mind, and in soul. It moves like static on a TV; it jerks and contorts its body as it crawls towards him, until a putrid black tongue laves over his bare chest and the bloodied stumps where his limbs once were.

 _“There’s no god here.”_ It whispers.

His vision fades, leaving only the sound of hissing laughter and the sickening squelching sounds of his body being eaten and his bones crunching.

Tooru wakes up in a panic and rolls over and immediately throws up violently into the wastebasket next to his bed. He hasn’t eaten anything in two days, and yet, thick dark red vomit fills nearly half the container, and by the way his stomach turns, there’s definitely a long night in store for him.

This, by far, is the worst part of these nightmares, waking up in this horrifyingly confusing state of unbelievable pain and unbearable arousal.

He also wakes up on the edge of orgasm.

"Fuck," He grunts as he rolls off his front and onto his back; the fabric of his briefs pulls at his erection, making him shudder. He feels like shit and his stomach hasn’t stopped turning, but the feeling of Kuroo’s mouth and hands and body is still just as fresh in his mind as the fear. Fuck it. Might as well get something out of this.

His hand creeps down the front of his underwear and deft fingers wrap around his cock. He jerks himself off slowly, trying to keep quiet. His eyes flutter shut, and behind his eyelids, he pushes out all thoughts of that dark, evil entity that destroys him every night, and instead focuses on what could happen. What he _wants_ to happen.

He thinks about his breath mingling with Kuroo’s as they fuck hard against that wall. The muscles in his thighs tighten, he can almost feel Kuroo’s cool, damp skin against them, the same way he can feel Kuroo’s grip on his thighs. He thinks about Kuroo throwing him down on that cushy love seat and taking him hard from behind; it’s rough and a little violent, but it’s okay. It’s just a dream. No harm ever came from dreaming, right?

His grip tightens around himself at the thought of those cold fingers closing around his throat, and a strangled moan escapes him. He squeezes the tip before stroking it a few times, lip snagged in his teeth to keep himself from groaning Kuroo's name out loud. He is certain that Kuroo would probably hear him from across the hall.

Maybe he kind of wants him to. Kuroo already wants to kill him anyway, so how much worse off could he possibly be?

He lifts his hips off the bed and pushes his briefs down to his knees, the sheet brushes against the sensitive tip of his cock as it settles back into place, just like in his dream before, and his breath hitches. "Oh god," he whispers, panting softly. His hand flies over his cock quickly but quietly, until the pressure building at the base of his spine is near unbearable.

His eyes pinch shut, and immediately the sensation of Kuroo's hand around his neck, _fuck it feels so real,_ overloads his senses. He swallows against the imaginary hand, rough and calloused against the soft skin of his throat, and that is enough to send Tooru over the edge.

He sits at the side of his bed quickly and comes with a soft grunt, his come spilling out in thick spurts onto his carpet. He'll regret this in about ten seconds when he has to clean it, but right now, watching it bead at the tip of his cock before seeping out is way too satisfying.

He milks his length for a while longer, until every drop is gone. He eventually flops backwards onto his bed, panting and exhausted, but sated. Once the dreams begat nightmares, he refused to acknowledge his post-dream arousal; it’d be too weird to get off after that, but that had been building for a while. He feels somewhat better, but now to deal with the mess.

The nausea he had been pushing to the back of his mind rises with a vengeance and passes through him as he slides off his bed, but thankfully, he doesn’t vomit again. With water bottle in hand, he gets down on his hands and knees and shakes out a bit of water onto the carpet. He scrubs it out with a random shirt before tossing it in the hamper.

It’s a struggle getting back up to a standing position without seeing doubles of everything, but somehow he manages it and shuffles over to his closet. He’s been in his room the entire day; he needs to get out and get some good fresh air in his lungs, even if it’s just for a few minutes. The sun has long set, but he’s glad for that. It’s cool out tonight. Of course, the possibility of Kuroo waiting for him out there lingers heavy on his mind, but the vampire was right. He can’t stay holed up in his room forever. It’s just not in his nature to do so. And at this point, getting bled dry sounds way better than slowly wasting away in his room.

As he walks by his nightstand, he catches the pendant in the corner of his eye. With a resigned sigh, he swipes it off the stand and slides it into his pocket.  

Truthfully, he’s thought many times about just marching over to Kuroo’s apartment and giving it back. It would be so easy to do it. Or at least, in theory, it seemed easy.

But every time the thought crossed his mind, he quickly found himself conjuring up reasons _not_ to do it. It was like a mental onslaught, those doubts moved in like a storm in his brain, growing louder and faster until Tooru changed his mind and decided not to. And just like that, the mental turmoil would abruptly cease, leaving a loud, unnerving silence in his mind.

This thing, it’s no ordinary piece of jewelry, that much he is certain of. It’s _alive_.

But with what, Tooru isn’t sure he wants to know.

He can feel it thrum with warm energy, even through his jeans, but he can’t seem to find the will to leave it behind.

“Fuck.” He mutters.

Tooru slides on a random t-shirt quietly, eyes pinched shut. He can already feel a massive headache coming on. Without even bothering to give himself a once over, he ventures out into the hallway, also not bothering to detour to the bathroom to address his steadily rising nausea. He refuses to do it.

As he nears the living room, there is suddenly a lot of chatter. He had thought that his friends would go out tonight, given that they usually do on Fridays nights, and he would have the place to himself for a few hours without having to dodge their concerned glances. But then Hajime’s voice filters into his ears and Tooru sighs in mild irritation. He’s running out of excuses, and after what he did to his best friend this morning, Tooru still isn’t sure if he can face his friends right now.

"So, are you a fan of the old Godzilla movies too? I really like the black and white ones the most." Hajime says, and Tooru can’t help but smile at the childish excitement in his tone.

“I am, yes,” Comes the response, --in a voice that is all too familiar now-- “I’m not usually a big fan of remakes, but I have to say this last one that came out wasn’t completely terrible.”

He walks into the kitchen and his blood freezes.

 _Fuck me_.

It’s a cozy scene at first glance; his friends are huddled together at their small dinner table, eating dinner. There’s takeout boxes and containers littered all over the table, and it smells incredible. But it’s the fourth member of their little party that has Tooru paralyzed right where he stands. Takahiro is the first to notice him standing there, and waves him over.

“Oh, Oikawa, you’re up. Um,” He hesitates for a moment. Tooru feels a massive pang of guilt when he notices that both his eyes and Issei’s eyes flit over to Hajime, who has gone silent. It stings even more when he sees Hajime quickly push down the sleeve of his hoodie to cover the big bandage wrapped around his arm.

“How are you feeling?” Takahiro finally finishes, kicking out the last empty chair with his foot under the table, inviting Tooru to sit and eat with them, but Tooru is still frozen in place. The chair is next to the very immortal he’s been actively avoiding.

“Okay, I guess.” He says carefully, refusing to look in Kuroo’s direction. In all this time, Kuroo’s eyes have been glued to him; even behind his dark sunglasses (Really? No one's mentioned the fact that he's wearing sunglasses at night?), Tooru can feel those piercing golden eyes boring into him like a laser, challenging him.

“Uh, Kuroo-san,” He begins, as cordially as he can, not daring to move an inch closer, “What are you doing here?”

Kuroo gives him a friendly smile. “Well, your friends here _invited me in_ for dinner.” There’s no mistaking the smugness in his tone, and if Tooru wasn’t so scared, he’d probably be furious at being bested.

“Iwaizumi-san told me about what happened, and I have to say,” Kuroo’s smile widens to show teeth, “I’m a bit shocked that you think that about me, Oikawa-san. Really, _a vampire?_ That’s a little childish, don’t you think?”

Tooru looks from him to his friends in disbelief, angered by their betrayal. None of them meet his eye.

Kuroo, ignoring the rising tension in the room, continues. “However, after a heartfelt plea and,” He pauses to cast a sidelong glance at both Issei and Takahiro, who glare right back, “Some long overdue ‘apologies’, I decided to see if I could help.”

Tooru eyes him skeptically. _Yeah, sure you’ll help me. You’ll help me right into a million bloody pieces._

“Why would you want to help me after knowing that I broke into your apartment? Most people wouldn’t be so eager to help even before finding out something like that, let alone afterward.”

The sweet, innocent look Kuroo gives him is nothing short of nauseating. “Because I’m a nice guy. After all, this is just a big misunderstanding, isn’t it? And it’s not like you _stole_ something from me or anything, right?”

Tooru twitches at the barb.

“I’m sorry.” Tooru says, “I, um, I’ll understand if you want to press charges, or anything. I accept full responsibility.”

He knows full well what Kuroo is going to say next, because he knows that this goes beyond a simple misdemeanor crime. But he has to put up the act for his friends.

“I’m not, don’t worry. Besides,” Kuroo pauses to take in Tooru’s state with a condescending once over, “Seems like karma has already done a number on you. No need to add any financial or legal strife to that.”  

Kuroo pauses for a beat and nudges the empty seat next to him out a little bit more. “You must be starving. Why don’t you come sit with us?”

Tooru backs away instinctively. “I’m not hungry.”

His back is turned to his friends, so they don’t see the sugary smile slide off Kuroo’s face. “Sit down.” It’s not an invitation. It’s a command. And one that Tooru can’t argue with or hide from. Kuroo is in his apartment now, in his territory. There’s no miraculously tumbling out of his death grip this time around, and Tooru knows that.

Slowly, he shuffles towards the empty seat and sits as far to the side in the chair-- as far away from Kuroo, as he can possibly get. Apparently noticing this, Kuroo slides over to lean his arm on the back of his chair, throwing himself right back into the minuscule safe space Tooru tried to make for himself. He shoots Tooru a mocking look.

_Can’t hide from me now, can you?_

This is more mortifying than terrifying right this second though, Tooru secretly admits to himself. It's hard to be properly afraid of someone you literally not only just had a _very vivid_ sex dream about, but also masturbated to the thought of--

It seems that karma really is fucking with him nowadays. When he had thought that he’d want Kuroo to hear him, _he didn’t actually mean it._ It was a joke, he was joking. Tooru’s face erupts like a volcano at the realization.

_Oh my god. He heard me. He totally heard everything! There’s no way he didn’t hear me!_

The heat is only made worse when he notices Kuroo start to sniff the air around them curiously. His eyes gradually trail down Tooru's body until they land in his lap, and they linger there for a second before Kuroo’s gaze bounces up to his burning face, an eyebrow quirked. He looks more amused than anything, and to Tooru, that is somehow way worse than any reaction the vampire could’ve had.

And to add insult to injury,

“You’re a pretty loud sleeper, Oikawa,” He quips as he sips at his tea, “That must’ve been some dream you were having.”

“More like a nightmare, actually.” Tooru snaps back without missing a beat. Scared or not, he’s not going to give Kuroo the damned satisfaction. Kuroo, however, lets the jab roll off his shoulders.

“You sure about that?”

But Tooru can hear the subtext in his words. _Yeah, I totally heard you._

Tooru bristles, flushing hotly, but before he has a chance to retort, Issei clears his throat. To be perfectly honest, Tooru had sort of forgotten his friends were still sitting across from them, watching this subliminal slap-fight unfold.

"Uh, so, yeah,” Hajime also interjects, “We've been trying to get him to go to the hospital for days, but he won't listen to us," Hajime gripes, frowning in Tooru's direction. He does, however, look a bit relieved when Tooru begrudgingly reaches for a container of soup and a spoon. "But at least you’re eating, so that's a start, I guess."

"Yeah," Kuroo agrees, "To be honest, I do think there is definitely something going around."

“You sure he didn’t just get poisoned or something?” Takahiro says under his breath, but it’s loud enough for everyone to hear. Kuroo’s gaze immediately falls on him, mouth turned sharply downward. Takahiro matches his glare with one of his own. Tooru looks between the two, taking in the obvious animosity between them.

“I don’t keep anything toxic in my apartment, just so you know. I have a cat. And, if I had actually intended to poison someone, I’d use something that would get the job done a lot faster.”

Takahiro gives a little ‘hmph’, but doesn’t retort. Kuroo drinks his tea, triumphant smirk hidden by the rim of his cup.

It's then that Tooru really takes him in for the first time since he sat down. Even for being undead, Kuroo has never looked as, well, as _undead,_ as he does right now. Tooru had been preparing to make a jab at the fact that Kuroo is wearing sunglasses at night (No, seriously, who even does that?), but now that he’s sitting in closer proximity to the vampire, he can see that his skin is sickly pale and he can see how much more sunken in his eyes are compared to the last time he saw him.

He looks a lot like Tooru does-- like absolute hell.

"Maybe there is. You don't look so good yourself, Kuroo." He dares to comment. The look Kuroo gives him falls just short of lethal, but surprisingly, almost as quickly as it came that edge is gone, leaving behind a look that speaks volumes. Whatever this is, Tooru realizes, it’s taking its toll on Kuroo, too.

"Heh, I guess not. Whatever’ going around seems to... it really just," Kuroo breathes in deep, and Tooru notices that his breathing is somewhat labored, "It sucks the life out of you."

Tooru finds himself agreeing with that wholeheartedly, despite everything.

“Kuroo, I noticed you haven’t really touched your food,” Hajime points out, “Not big on takeout?”

“I’m just not very hungry at the moment,” Kuroo says, lightly pushing the plate of food Hajime had so kindly set out for him away.

It just rolls off Tooru’s tongue. He can’t resist. “Why, are you on one of those _special_ diets?”

Oh, if looks could kill.

Kuroo's eyes flash dangerously at the challenge. This immediately goes down on Tooru's list of 'Shit I will Most Definitely Regret Later', but his curiosity, even in the most dire of situations, tends to get the better of him. And this is something he's _always_ wanted to know; in fact, it’s #26 on his List.

_Can vampires eat regular food?_

“Yeah, Iwaizumi was nice enough to buy you dinner for offering to help,” Issei snipes, pointing at Kuroo with his chopsticks “You could at least be polite enough to eat some.”

Takahiro nods in agreement, and if nothing else, Tooru is pleased to see that the ‘cozy scene’ wasn’t nearly as cozy as he had first thought. Kuroo hasn’t charmed his way into gaining their trust. He’s about forty-six percent less mad at his friends than he was before.

“After the debacle this afternoon, I didn’t expect to be treated to dinner.” Kuroo says. Without breaking eye contact, Kuroo picks up his chopsticks, breaking them neatly before reaching for the still steaming plate of fish in front of him. Tooru watches keenly as he cuts a small piece off, dips it in the sauce Hajime had set out with it, and puts it in his mouth.

Tooru tries not to let his curiosity show, but inside he is alight with an intense desire to know what will happen next. After all, a creature who gleans all of its sustenance from blood can't possibly stomach solid foods, right?

“Mm, it is really good.” Kuroo says with a big, phony smile. He takes another few small bites; he’s clearly just being polite, but after a hard look, his friends seem to accept it and the meal continues.

_How could they just-?_

Tooru has half a mind to yell out that you don’t just _ignore and then begrudgingly eat_ steamed fish from that little place down the street. It’s practically it’s own fucking food group, for pete's sake. That and milkbread, obviously. But they’re all focused on their own meals again, making small talk among themselves. As soon as they look away, Tooru catches the puckered lips and pinched eyes behind sunglasses and visible shudder of disgust in his peripheral vision. The way he’s reacting, you’d think Kuroo just drank battery acid. He reaches for his tea and chugs it down in one go, quickly pouring himself a refill.

It’s priceless. Tooru can’t help but snicker, his petty side taking wicked delight in Kuroo’s suffering. Hell, if this is his last night on Earth, why not allow himself the satisfaction?

“What’s the matter? Not a fan of fish? Or would you prefer something a little more on the raw side?”

No one thinks much of that, aside from Takahiro pulling a face after Issei makes a Hannibal joke, but Kuroo doesn’t appreciate the joke nearly as much. He swallows another huge chunk of the fish sheerly out of spite, gives Tooru a pointed smirk afterwards.

“The _fish_ is _fine._ ” He declares after setting down his chopsticks. But Tooru can read the clear threat in his tone. _If you keep it up, you definitely_ won’t _be._

“So, Kuroo, how exactly are you going to help Oikawa?” Hajime asks, wiping his mouth. Tooru looks between them, wondering what he means. Actually, he knows what it means, more specifically, he’s wondering what the hell kind of cockamamie story Kuroo peddled to convince them that he _could_ help.

“That’s between me and him, I’m afraid.” Kuroo announces, “You three are leaving for the night.”

The three of them look to each other in first confusion and then anger. A chair abruptly scrapes against the tiles as Hajime stands up. “Now, wait a minute, we can’t just lea-”

Kuroo hums with delight as he leans forward, eyes locking dead with Hajime’s. Something in the room seems to shift in that instant. It’s a tangible, oppressive feeling; very close to that feeling Tooru had felt the night he first found himself alone in the elevator with Kuroo. Only this is way more intense this time. It’s more focused now. But the oppression soon gives way to intoxicating; it feels like the room is slowly filling to the ceiling with lukewarm water. It makes his skin feel warm and it tingles with energy. Tooru’s eyes flutter closed, momentarily succumbing to the almost soothing way the heaviness ensnares the senses. It would be so easy to lose oneself in it completely; Tooru wants to lose himself in the high.  

But the sound of Kuroo’s voice brings him crashing back to the ground. His friends are frozen in place.

Kuroo’s eyes shine as bright as supernovas. _“I think I’ve been patient enough for tonight. It’s time for you all to leave now,”_ He says as he leans forward and rests his chin atop linked hands. The room seems to sway with his voice, lulling space and time itself. _“A night of rest would do you all well.”_

The sound of three sets of chopsticks hitting plates simultaneously freezes Tooru right in his seat. They nod obediently, their wills no longer their own.

_“Matsukawa, you’ve been dying to check out that new nightclub, haven’t you?”_

Issei nods vacuously. “I’ve been dying to check out that new nightclub,” He parrots, and right then, the blood drains from Tooru’s face when he realizes what is happening. He can hear Kuroo’s baritone inlaid with Issei's own voice, can almost see the pulse of his eyes as they lock with each of them, Kuroo enforcing his will upon them.

_Mind control! Holy shit!_

_“Go have a good time, everything’s gonna be alright.”_

His voice is mollifying; muddling the mind and the senses as it echoes gently through the room like a voice from a distant dream.

_“Go.”_

“Guys?” Tooru squeaks out when they all stand to their feet, stark silent. Kuroo settles back in his seat elegantly, waves them off with a pleased smile as they leave the mess of empty take out containers and dirty plates right where they are and filter out the door in a single file line.

“I kind of like them,” Kuroo chirps as soon as the door closes behind Issei, the last one out, “They’re pretty entertaining, once you really get to know them. I like people with personalities.”

He turns to Tooru just as his eyes lose their intense brightness, fading back into their regular cool golden hue. He grimaces a bit, pinches at his eyes. “Ah, I did it a little too long this time.”

“You’d better not hurt them.” Tooru threatens. Kuroo gives him a look that clearly says, ‘Or what?’ But Tooru refuses to back down. He stares the vampire down; hard and determined brown meet amused amber. “I’ll break it, you know. If you do something to them, I swear I’ll-”

“First of all, you’re not going to do a damn thing, because you can’t. And even if you could, I’d gut you before you even made it out of this room.” Kuroo taps his fingers on the table loudly, forcing to Tooru to take in the nails slowly growing into claws. Tooru swallows, imagining the bloody scene.

Kuroo’s deceptively light laugh fills the room. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt your stupid friends,” He says after a beat, waving his hand dismissively, “They’re not even going to remember tonight, so don’t worry about it.”

His smile dims, “You should be more worried about yourself, don’t you think?”

“I care more about them right now.” Tooru snaps back. A cough tickles annoyingly in chest and he reaches for napkins sitting in the middle of the table. It comes out a lot harsher than he thought; little spatters of blood dot the paper when he pulls it away.  

Kuroo flashes Tooru a toothy grin. “Childhood friends, I assume?”

Tooru’s eye twitches. “That’s none of your business.”

Kuroo, however, just nods, Tooru’s apprehension his confirmation. He stares at the door, a look in his eyes that puts Tooru on edge. “Iwaizumi is a good guy, you know? He cares a lot about you, from what I can tell. They all do.”

That smile grows into a wicked smirk. “And how do you repay him? By biting a chunk out of him, like some inbred cannibal.” He tsks in amusement, fishing a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“It was an accident. I-” Tooru pauses, “It wasn’t me. Something else made me do it.”

Kuroo doesn’t respond, other than a whimsical hum as he lights up and takes a long, slow drag.

“Don’t smoke in my house.”

Like flicking a switch, the smile immediately drops off Kuroo’s face. He locks eyes with Tooru as he takes a long drag, so long that it burns out nearly the entire cigarette, and exhales the giant cloud of smoke right in Tooru’s face. It’s hot and it burns his nose and throat and makes him start to cough violently. But even his hacking and coughing doesn’t drown out Kuroo’s malicious chuckles as he watches Tooru gasp for air.

“Want me to stop? Why don’t you come pry this fucking cigarette out of my cold, dead fingers then, hm?” He goads as he takes another drag. Another face full of smoke and a new bout of painful coughing shreds Tooru’s weakened lungs. “You know damn well that you’re in no position to be telling me what to do.”

He leans on the table, resting his chin in one hand. He grabs Tooru by the fringe with the other, forcing him to look Kuroo in the eye.

“Can I be honest with you? Iwaizumi’s blood smells incredible.” That teasing smile returns in earnest. “It smells almost as good as yours does. Heh, I got a nice whiff of it this afternoon, when your friends came by-- they were practically begging me to help you, you know.”

Kuroo’s face darkens. “It’s been a long time since I hunted a human for blood. But I have to admit, blood bags are getting boring after so many decades.” His smile grows to expose teeth, “Maybe one dark night, when Iwaizumi Hajime gets off work and takes the shortcut home from the train station… something _unfortunate_ might happen to him.”

Tooru explodes. “YOU STAY AWAY FROM IWA-CHAN!” He screams, on his feet in a split-second, “HE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!”

Kuroo brushes off the outburst with a laugh as he taps some ashes off in Tooru’s soup, which only makes Tooru bristle more. That, in turn, only makes Kuroo laughs louder. “What? It’s not like you were really gonna eat it, anyway. Not with your body well on its way to rotting from the inside out.”

Tooru is still coughing hard and wheezing, but Kuroo’s words grab him. “What do mean, rotting?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, genius. It’s cruel, I admit. Sadistic, even,” Kuroo says, “It’s a very slow, miserable death. You’ve been tired, on the verge of collapse. Puking up everything, I’m sure. That’s how it starts.”

Tooru’s eyes widen. “I’m...dying?” He murmurs, sinking back into his seat. He didn’t want to think it was that bad, but...

“Not just yet.” Kuroo eyes take on a harder edge. “But you will, if you don’t hand that pendant back over to me tonight. I’ve left it with you long enough, but now I need it back.”

Tooru can feel it in his jean pocket, pulsing and warm. His heart is starting to race, and by the way Kuroo slides forward in his seat, all the way to the edge, watching him closely as he does, he knows that Kuroo can hear it, too.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t have it.” He didn’t mean to say that. Shit, that was the furthest thing imaginable from what he wanted to say. _It’s here. It’s in my pocket._

“Don’t you dare lie to me.” Kuroo’s fangs start to slide out --fuck, were they always that long? They look more like sabers than teeth--

He drops the butt of the cigarette onto the forgotten plate of food next to him, glancing over it with disgust. In an instant, his shadow looms over Tooru. Cold hands cup Tooru’s face, jerking his head upwards and forcing him to look into Kuroo’s piercing eyes.

_“Give it to me now.”_

Tooru wants to, so, so badly. He just wants this nightmare to be over. He nods slowly, hand creeping towards his pocket. Kuroo’s eyes flit down to the bulge in Tooru’s hip. He could just take it on his own, Tooru thinks, why doesn’t he _just_ ? _Why doesn’t he just kill me and take it then? Isn’t that what he came to do?_

_Just take it from me!_

“Why’s it so important to you?” he blurts out, despite the fact that he’s sure Kuroo won’t hesitate to crush his skull right in his hands.  

The grip on his face tightens.“That’s not your concern. Give me the pendant.”

“I can’t,” Tooru cries, “I can’t do it!”

Kuroo’s nails-- _claws_ \--dig into his cheeks, piercing the skin and drawing blood. “What?” Kuroo snaps, his voice taking on that rougher edge, the bloodlust creeping in, “Why?”

“I-I don’t know! I’m tr-tr-tr-y-”

Tears are burning at the corner of his eyes. His tongue suddenly goes limp in his mouth, like a dead weight. Like it’s disconnected from the rest of his body; no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to form the words that he means to say. He keeps stuttering even over the lump growing painfully in his throat from his frustration, even as Kuroo’s eyes start to widen and his grip slackens when he sees the sincere panic in Tooru’s eyes. This isn’t his doing.

“I’m try-trying,” He finally manages to sputter. It feels like it took all the power he had in him to spit those two words out. His tongue feels constricted, like a hand has clamped around it, keeping him from speaking.

At the same time, the room starts to spin in that horribly disorienting way that Tooru has become accustomed to; he sways in Kuroo’s grip and lurches forward, face-first into the firm abdomen he’s eye level with. It’s weirdly comforting, the coolness of the vampire’s body in comparison to his steadily climbing fever, but before long, his stomach turns violently, and his hand flies over his mouth. Kuroo looks shocked at the sudden change and the cold chill of Kuroo’s hands leaves his face. And not a moment too soon, either. Tooru races to the bathroom and empties the meager contents of his stomach and a whole lot of _red._

_It’s so much blood._

_This is it. I’m really dying, aren’t I?_

His sobs begin to pepper the grueling retching. At this point, death is a blessing compared to this. He’d welcome it gladly if it meant this suffering would end.

“He’s got a hold on you,” Kuroo’s voice suddenly creeps into his ears from the doorway of the bathroom. “I knew you’d be sick, but I didn’t think he’d take to you like _this_.”

There are many things Tooru expects in this moment of absolute weakness, but Kuroo’s hand smoothing over his back, pulling his hair back out of his face? This was definitely not one of them. And yet, the vampire leans over him, soothing him as he heaves and heaves until there’s nothing left in him, and helps him sit back against the wall.

Tooru’s eyes fall shut, black spots clouding his vision. What he wouldn’t give for his bed right now. He vaguely hears the sounds of the tap turning on and then turning back off a few seconds later, followed by the comforting sensation of a warm washcloth on his face.

He dares to crack an eye open. Kuroo is back to normal, no fangs, no nothing. He’s as gentle as a mother with her newborn, gingerly cleaning him off. “What are you doing?”

Kuroo cracks a rueful smile. “Feeling regret. This is my fault, after all. I shouldn’t have left you with it for so long. I was careless.”

Tooru cracks. “You _knew_ this was going to happen. You just told me not five minutes ago that this is what happens,” He seethes, smacking Kuroo’s hand away, “You came in here, so fucking smug, and now you feel bad? Now you regret it? Fuck you.”

Kuroo growls. “Yeah, I do. I’m not a complete monster, you know. I didn’t mean for it to get _this_ bad, okay? I just wanted-”

Kuroo cuts himself off, stares hard at Tooru before cursing under his breath and cleaning him off a bit rougher. He stops however, when a weak, pale hand clamps around his wrist.

“Just wanted _what_?” Tooru presses angrily.

The look Kuroo gives him is nothing short of miserable. “A few days of _freedom,_ ” He says simply.

That short, quiet admission momentarily throws Tooru for a loop. _Freedom? What the hell does he mean by that?_

But before he can question it, Kuroo laughs pitifully. “I’m so stupid,” He mutters to himself, and in that moment, despite everything, Tooru kind of feels for him. The sadness in Kuroo’s tone and in his expression are profound; this goes way beyond tonight, way beyond him, and for the first time since this entire ordeal began, Tooru truly regrets ever getting involved. This was something he should’ve left alone; he should’ve resigned himself to speculate over his books and websites, not meddle with something real. But he didn’t, and now here he is, fighting for his life.

It all really does come full circle, doesn't it?

Shakily, Tooru reaches out and grabs the sunglasses off Kuroo’s face and throws them aside. Kuroo is momentarily stunned by the abrupt action, and the towel on his face pauses briefly. Tooru stares at him hard, trying to steady his breathing as he talks.

“You’re dying too, aren’t you?”

Kuroo snorts at that, continues wiping his face. Tooru catches a glimpse of the washcloth in his peripheral vision. Different shades, from light pink to the darkest red he’s ever seen. “I can’t die.” Kuroo replies.

“Then why do you look as shitty as I do?”

Offense flashes across Kuroo’s expression for only a second before his face becomes neutral once again. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I have a right to know.”

“You don’t have a damned thing. Literally none of this would’ve happened if you had just minded your own business in the first place.”

Tooru glares up at him. “You _attacked_ me.”

Kuroo doesn’t miss a beat. “You _provoked_ me.”

Tooru pushes his hand away again, for good this time. “If you want the stupid pendant back so bad, why don’t you just kill me and take it then? That’s what you came here to do anyway, isn’t it?”

Kuroo frowns at him. “If I had really intended to kill you, you’d be dead already. And believe me,” The frown deepens, “I’m still considering it. But I’d rather not take that chance right now.”

“Oh no?” Tooru quips over another bloody cough, “And why’s that? I’m basically dead as it is. Nothing’s stopping you.”

“You’re right, there isn’t. But I don’t know what’ll happen to _me_ if I do.”

“You?”

Kuroo sneers at him. “Well, no one’s ever been stupid enough to steal from me before now. And to be honest, he’s got such a strong hold on you now that I don’t think he’d let me kill you, even if I wanted to.”

“I didn’t take it, okay? It _followed_ me. It-” Tooru groans in pain as another wave of intense sickness courses through him. “-It was in my pocket when I came home. Ever since then I’ve been so tired, and sick, and I’ve been having these horrible nightmares...there’s this dark, evil thing, and it kills me every time. And then I wake up.”

He makes sure to leave out everything before that.

His head lulls to the side like a dead weight. “Is that the _he_ you’ve been talking about? This...this 'Daishou' you mentioned before?”

Kuroo doesn’t respond. He gives him a pointed look that is a clear warning for Tooru to stop meddling before sighing and rinsing the blood out of the wash cloth. When he comes back to finish cleaning him, Tooru sighs tiredly and takes Kuroo’s hand. It takes a second, but he manages to find his words without interference this time. ”Look, I have it here. Just take it.” He pleads, pushing Kuroo’s hand down towards his pocket, “I’ll never bother you again, just, please. I can’t take this anymore.”

“I wish it was that easy.” Kuroo says gravely, tugging his hand out of Tooru’s grip. Tooru looks up, eyes wide. “It is that easy! Just take it!”

“I _can’t_ ‘just take it’! Don’t you get it?” Kuroo snaps, “If I could have, I would’ve done it the second I walked in here.”

Kuroo shifts to crouch down directly in front of him, face deadly serious. “Now, listen to me. You have to relinquish it of your own will. If I take it from you, you _will_ die right here. Do you understand?”

Tooru’s heart skips a beat. “What?”

“It’ll kill you.” Kuroo says. “And it’s not just a simple matter of you handing it over anymore. It’s latched on to you. He’ll do and say anything to keep you from giving it back to me.”

Tooru stares back, terrified. “Why?”

Another pitiful chuckle. “Because I fucked up, and he knows I’m nearing desperate. He knows it’s starting to affect me too... heh, seeing me withering away in pain is all he wants. Nothing pleases him more than to see others suffering. Me, more than anyone.”

He can feel it pulse in his pocket as Kuroo speaks, almost like it’s admitting that it’s true. “Uh, um,” Tooru stares down at his pocket like it’s on fire, “Shit! I don’t think I can do it!”

“Just take it slow,” Kuroo instructs, casting a wary eye over him. Tooru feels like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. Slow, deep breaths, he thinks to himself. Carefully, he inches his hand toward the steadily increasing pulses, until his hand disappears into the pocket and his fingers curl around the pendant. It’s such a small piece of jewelry, but all of a sudden, it feels like he’s trying to tug a hundred-pound hot coal out of his pocket. His fingers audibly singe and he yelps.

“Let me see,” Kuroo demands, yanking Tooru’s hand towards him. The pain is unbearable. Fresh tears sting at his eyes as Kuroo traces the reddened, blistering skin with his fingertips. “Shit,” Kuroo curses, “He really likes you.”

“Bully for me,” Tooru snaps, trying to pry his hand out of Kuroo’s grip, but Kuroo is steadfast. With a frustrated sigh, he leans in close. Too close. He shifts forward on his hands and knees until he is nose to nose with Tooru. The sudden proximity brings a new heat to Tooru’s face, but Kuroo seems too focused to notice it, thankfully.

“Daishou,” He begins, cupping Tooru’s face firmly as he speaks, “I know you can hear me. Please let him go. It’s me that you want, not him.”

He smirks softly. “You know this human isn’t going to sustain you the way I can. After all, it’s my life force that’s been keeping you alive all these centuries, isn’t it?”

Their foreheads touch. Kuroo’s fingers brush over his lips. “Please. I know how happy it makes you to see me begging and miserable. Well here I am, begging and miserable. Please let Oikawa go. He doesn’t deserve this. I do.”

His mouth begins to twitch. Tooru feels the corner of his mouth start to pull upwards on its own. He’s smirking, and he can’t explain why. He has no reason to be pleased about anything, and yet, he can feel laughter start to bubble in his chest. It comes out as a loud, vicious peel, and it’s no laugh he recognizes. It doesn’t sound like him at all. But Kuroo’s eyes go wide at the alien sound.

“Let him go!” He pleads again. There is no mistaking the urgency in his voice.

Tooru tries to speak, but something suppresses him in that instant. Something pushes him into the background of his own psyche, out of his own mind, out of his own body. From one second to the next, Kuroo’s horrified face and voice begin to melt away and the light from his bathroom, the shitty, flickering, fluorescent light dims until all he sees is black. He’s suddenly free-falling in his own mind it feels like, falling until his body lands in something hot, sticky, and putrid.

“What the hell?” He screams frantically, flailing and trying to find something, anything, to grab a hold of. But there’s nothing around him for what seems like miles. He swims as hard as he can, against the thick liquid--it’s more like sludge, really-- heading towards what he assumes are the walls of this dank cavernous pit, but the closer he gets, the more they stretch beyond his reach. He comes to a stop after nearly ten minutes of fruitless swimming, arms burning.

“This isn’t real. It’s all in my head,” He says to himself. He says this to himself over and over as he looks around, trying to find a way out. But the smell of sulfur, like rotten eggs invades his nostrils and nearly makes him gag, and the slickness of the, _whatever_ it is he's floating in, against his skin reminds him of oil spills from those big tankers on the ocean. He moves it around in his hand, letting out a disgusted noise when he squeezes his hand into a fist and it oozes out from between his fingers with a loud, flatulent noise.

"What is this place?" He wonders out loud. The only light he can see is the light from a small opening. It shines down on him like a holy light shining down into Hell, disrupting the silent, never-ending darkness. In the light, he can see the black fumes rising up from the liquid. He tries not to inhale it, but eventually, basic human needs supersede his anxiety and he breathes in. The dark miasma moves in, swirls around him, until it obscures the light, casting it into an almost purplish lens.

“Oikawa! You have…. fight...im!” Kuroo’s voice is so small now, he’s miles away from him, calling to him from inside the tiny speck of light that shines down on him, down on this abyss. He can just barely make out what he’s saying over the black liquid seeping into his ears, drowning out all noise. The longer he floats there idly, the more he can feel his senses starting to go numb; his limbs begin to feel so heavy...he stops fighting it after a while, content to let his body float in the dark liquid. Little by little, it begins engulfing him, creeping up his limbs and body, wrapping around him until only his head and part of his chest are free.

_It’s so warm here..._

His mind is in a fog. Tooru’s eyes start to roll back and fall shut, succumbing to the sensation. He’s never felt so...at peace. He could lie here forever, in this deep darkness. This liquid, there’s something about it, about the way it swirls and wraps around his chest like a serpent, envelopes him, that feels alive. It moves like it has a mind of its own. He can feel it seeping into his pores, into his mouth, anywhere it can get in. But it feels so nice, Tooru can feel the desire to fight fading away with every second.

“Oik-...wa!”

Kuroo’s cries from the light are now nothing but a distant chittering that reverberates off the surface of the liquid. It ripples with the sound and Tooru smiles, reaching towards the movement playfully.

The liquid ghosts over his neck in thin rivulets that feel too much like fingers, reaching around the back of his neck to pillow his head up out of the liquid. Tooru’s eyes crack open wider at the sudden loss of warmth around his head. He looks around sleepily, but all he can see is the circle of light far above him, encircled by nothing but pitch black.

“Plea...him go!”

“Kuroo,” Tooru mumbles. He can just make out Kuroo's figure, pleading to someone unseen.

 _Oh yeah, it's me._ He thinks languidly. Suddenly, the faint light is obscured by more black. It moves in slowly from underneath; the liquid creeps up his body, writhing and twisting and splashing together into a solid form, and the more it comes into focus, the more Tooru realizes he knows exactly what it is.

After all, he's seen it so many times in his nightmares. It's killed him, over and over again.

The figure above him hums and leans in closer, so close that Tooru can make out the red gleam of its one visible eye. The pupil is narrowed into a slit, like a snake's eyes. It gleams with something wicked as it stares down at him. The other is shrouded behind a veil of thick muck that drips down onto Tooru’s face, snapping him out of his hazy state when it singes his cheek.

“Kuroo!” He screams, now fully awake and no longer held by the warm, magnetic pull of the liquid. He can feel it start to bubble around him, as does the figure above him.

 _"What's the matter?"_ It asks in a hissing, raspy voice, _"Don't you like it here?"_

The liquid stirs with its voice, pools up his body, constricting him.

"Oikawa, fight him!" He can hear Kuroo's voice clearly for the first time, and it moves him into action. He pushes at the thing above him as hard as he can, and miraculously, it gives. It shrieks violently as it lands in the sludge a foot or so away. All at once, the hypnotic, calming feel of the cavern quickly turns into a bubbling cauldron with its rage, and Tooru can feel his skin getting hotter with every second. He swims and kicks as hard as he can, desperately reaching for the light.

_Please, just let me get out of here!_

"Please," He cries, arms outstretched. The light seems to grow the more he struggles and fights his way out of the bubbling sludge. It moves in waves, rising and falling violently, like a maelstrom on the ocean. But the light and dark move in sync; one rises as the other falls, and Tooru reaches so hard he can feel his arm muscles tearing beneath the skin. It's excruciating, but he's so close. With every desperate thrust forward, he can see Kuroo's face clearer and clearer, shaking something. _Him._ Begging for him to fight against this thing and take his body back. He has no idea how long he's been in here, but compared to this, he'd gladly take Kuroo's smug, fanged grin any day.

Something firm wraps around his ankle. Tooru screams in pain as the liquid scalds his ankle like boiling oil, breaking through the skin, searing everything nearly down to the bone. He looks over his shoulder, only to see the yellowed, bloodied grin of something not human. No nightmare could even come close to this.

"Daishou, please let him go!" Kuroo pleads again, and this time, he gets a response.The thing lets out a laugh that makes the hairs on Tooru's neck stand on end. Everything seems to freeze in that moment, as it speaks. Not here behind him, but to Kuroo, through his own lips.

_"My time is coming soon. I can't wait to see you again."_

The grip on his ankle disappears, as does the cavern, and the darkness, and Tooru is thrust back into his normal stream of consciousness, back into the bad lighting of his way too tiny bathroom in the apartment he shares with his three best friends. He could cry, he's so happy. But before he has time to process anything, his face is in Kuroo's hands and the vampire is frantically talking.

"The pendant, Oikawa," He screams, "Do it now, give it to me now!"

Tooru nods in a panic, scrambles to his feet and reaches into his pocket. The pendant is still hot as an ember, but the burn is nothing compared to what he's just experienced. His ankle throbs and stings so bad; Tooru bites his lips to keep from screaming out. But he has to do this now.

"Here, take it!" He screams as he drops the pendant into Kuroo's waiting hand.

It really is like they say in those shows about hauntings. Like how once the entity has been exorcised, it's like a breath of fresh air. Quiet, serene light replaces heavy, oppressive darkness, and suddenly, you can see the joy and happiness shining through the fog as it lifts.

The relief is instantaneous.

The second the pendant leaves his hand, the nausea fades almost immediately. The burns on his ankle and hand lessen and lessen until after a few seconds, the skin of his hand is back to its same, slightly calloused fleshy tone, not the blistered, boiled mess that it was before. He can feel the energy returning to him. He can breathe again; the weight of guilt, regret, and the loom of death taken off his chest. He takes a deep breath. Then another. He gulps the air in the room like he's been underwater for years, always on the verge of drowning but not quite getting there, and it feels so good.

Hot tears runs down his cheeks as he sobs into his hands. _He's free_.

"Are you okay?"

He'd almost forgotten that Kuroo was still there. He looks over his shoulder, not even bothering to hide the tears and snot dripping down his nose, even as Kuroo grimaces in disgust at him.

"Yikes," He mutters under his breath, "Not the cutest crier, are you?"

"Shut up," Tooru blubbers, rubbing his face on his sleeve, "I almost died, okay? Let me gross cry. I deserve this."

Kuroo lets out a low 'ugh' but doesn't say anything else. He looks down at the pendant in his hand. It's still pulsing; Tooru can still feel it, and he backs away, out into the hallway.

"Relax," Kuroo says, still looking at it, "It's in my possession again. You're safe now." But something in his tone makes Tooru feel anything but safe. It's not enough to say that Kuroo just looks worried. He looks scared. Tooru can't blame him, but still. There are things that need to be discussed.

"Don't you think you owe me an apology?" Tooru says, arms crossing over his chest. Kuroo slides the pendant into his pocket, thoroughly ignoring Tooru and his apparently absurd request. He shoots Tooru one last fiery look before he roughly shoves past him and out of the hallway. Tooru fumes.

_After all of the-no. He doesn’t get to just walk out of here like everything’s okay. Hell no._

"Hey, don't walk away from me!" He snaps, stomping after the vampire. There's no way he's just going to let Kuroo walk out of here without so much as a 'I'm sorry'. After everything he’s been through the past week _\-- the past hour--_ he’d better get some answers.

He runs in front of Kuroo, blocking the door. “Not yet.”

Kuroo stares at him coldly. “Step aside, human. You’ve caused me enough trouble tonight.”

“I’m not moving until you tell me what the fuck just happened. What’s been happening to me. After what you told me before, I think you owe me that much, at least.”

A frigid hand clamps around his throat before Tooru even has time to react. Kuroo’s grip only tightens as he lifts Tooru clear off the ground, suspended a foot in the air. Tooru grabs at his wrist, fighting for Kuroo to let him down, but the vampire’s grip is like a vice.

“Now you listen,” He growls, “None of this would’ve happened if you had just stayed away in the first place. If you had just minded your own damn business. Just be glad that I don’t kill humans for food anymore, because if I did, you and your friends would’ve been bled dry ages ago.”

Clawed fingers dig into his flesh. “But if you ever interfere in my affairs again, I might just start killing for sport.”

With that, Tooru lands on his ass with a hard thud. Kuroo casts one last icy look down at him before side-stepping him and walking out the door.

Tooru scrambles to his feet after him. “What about my friends?” He hollers, collapsing against the doorframe. Kuroo has one foot in his apartment already, but he stops at the sound of Tooru’s voice. With a loud sigh, he turns around.

“They won’t remember any of this.”

“What about Iwa-chan’s arm?”

Kuroo at least has the decency to look somewhat apologetic at that. “I’m afraid that won’t heal for a while.”

The door closes softly behind him after that, leaving Tooru alone in the hallway, trying to stave off fresh tears that are threatening to fall.  

 

*****

 

**_Aokigahara Forest, Mount Fuji, Japan_ **

 

The moon’s light is reduced to slivers as it shines down on the dense foliage of the forest. It touches the ground in splinters, illuminating nothing but leaves and the spirits of the restless and departed as they wander the grounds.

Deeper in the forest, at the base of the mountain, a pit of black tar bubbles and spits sulfur into the air. The sharp, icy air of the mountain gives under the dank heat; the trees droop into twisted, hanging willows, and the ground grows softer the closer it is, riddled with moisture. A chunk separates from the bank and slides into the murkiness, melts into it with barely a ripple.

Towards the center, it begins to boil.

The pit thrums with energy as the tar churns and swirls around the steaming epicenter; a tree, shaken loose from where it had been so firmly rooted before this invader took over the land around it, sinks into the muck and tips over. Its branches occlude part of this pit, hiding it from the eyes of the travelers wandering the trail nearby.

It settles after a time, the churning ceases and the pit falls into an overwhelming silence. A single thick bubble erupts at the surface, and with it, a head emerges. With a hiss and a groan like the steaming of a tea kettle, the body lying beneath the surface flexes and contorts, joints cracking as limbs form. The head settles in the tar, half-submerged, listening to the loud hollering and jeers and drunken laughter of youths the distance.

A toothy grin curls dark lips.

It’s been a hundred years since he’s last fed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos fuel me~~
> 
> Don't be shy! Hit me up on twitter if you're live-tweeting @sushib0mb or if you wanna do fanart, please lmk so I can link! 
> 
> Next chapter will be much lighter, I promise! Gotta get the plot rolling tho :D
> 
> Until then lovelies!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos fuel me!
> 
> And if you're on Twitter, hmu @sushib0mb with some comments or livetweets! There is no higher honor for me!


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